


Code Blue

by Wicker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blood and Gore, Blowjobs, Bondage, Dead People, Deepthroating, Gags, M/M, Military Kink, San Francisco Bay Area, Strippers, The Author Apologizes, everyone is a detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicker/pseuds/Wicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1976, and Gadreel is a new transfer to the homicide department of the SFPD. Benny Lafitte, a quiet veteran of the Marine corps, is his secretive partner. How far "off the books" is Gadreel prepared to go to catch the serial killer stalking the gay clubs of San Francisco?  To get to the bottom of the case, he will explore the dark corners of his lust and find that the desires he has warred with his entire life are as much a part of his moral fabric as his need to protect the innocent. It's a good thing that he's got Lafitte in his corner. Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June 1972

**Author's Note:**

> I have arranged a playlist of songs which suit the period and story. There is a definite focus on LGBT artists of the 1970's. I suggest opening [this spotify link](https://play.spotify.com/user/burningwicker/playlist/5l9pcJRheHRZyyNqyrx3Up) and letting them play on shuffle.
> 
> Many thanks to [ Castielsstarr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsstarr/works) and  What_About_The_Fish for being terrific, long-suffering beta readers. 
> 
> [ Veektrose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Veektrose/pseuds/Veektrose) made some incredible art and I'm deeply happy with it-- it's really amazing how good he is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Evans, Vietnam.

\---

The sun hit the rice paddies and flat ponds east of Camp Evans and bounced up, lighting the metal ceiling of the Iroquois helicopter. Lt. Gadreel Milton lowered his sunglasses and looked out the open door of the aircraft. He knew that the pilot was trying to rattle him just from the wolfish, cocky grin he’d thrown him before takeoff, a move that he was more than used to as a CID investigator. Most enlisted men felt a little resentment around commissioned officers, and it was more noticeable when an officer was sent to look into criminal allegations in the ranks.

He had some idea of the kind of situation he was looking into. Sadly, it was becoming rather common the longer he was overseas. A young Second Lieutenant had been reported by a doctor handling his case as attempting suicide by firearm.

The helicopter banked left and he leaned with it, snugly held in by his straps. One of the privates on the flight looked almost disappointed at the lack of reaction from Gadreel, and he smirked at the young man, dusting off some imaginary lint on his knee.  

They landed quickly and offloaded him and his duffel before hauling out some empty stretchers to return to the base. He stood nearby while the helicopter took off again. He was parched and nobody was around, so he saw himself to the largest of the tents, the one with the most wiring and generators around it. Everything in Camp Evans was a temporary installation, but it was huge, and housed the 187th Infantry, the 94th Artillery Regiment, and the 63rd Signal Battalion. He asked the first person on the ground crew that he saw to confirm that that was the hospital unit, and moved in that direction, fixing his hat back on his head when the wind from the propellers died down.

Even in June it was already sticky under his collar, the humidity choking-- It had been beautifully temperate just a day before in Okinawa, just a few hours away by plane and just as coastal. He adjusted his belt and made sure that he was still tucked in properly as he walked.  

Inside the hospital it was noisier than he’d anticipated, and busy. Nurses and doctors were pacing between beds and helping with the surgeries beyond canvas doorways. While the facility itself was well stocked with medications and bandages, the one thing that it had in mind above all was portability, so the walls were spaced with tent-poles, the divisions were open to the large, high ceiling, and screaming could be heard from somewhere in the back. This place wasn’t designed to hold injured men for long. Ideally, it was a triage point, where those requiring more major surgeries would be brought to the hospital ship moored on the coast, or patched up and sent back into the field.

From his file, Lt. Tran could fit in either category, but had remained in Camp Evans’ hospital until the case could be looked into.

Gadreel turned to a nurse as he stacked clean respirator tubes in a rack. “Could you direct me to Major Harris?”

The nurse looked him up and down, did a half-hearted salute, and led the way to the rear of the tent. “Follow me, sir.”

He knew he should have worn his fatigues to the base; everyone glanced at him and got out of the way, or pretended to be incredibly busy. He saw many soldiers in the beds that were wounded beyond help and more than a few laid in bloody bandages in need of changing.

Some of these men wouldn’t survive the long flight home. Gadreel counted himself lucky to be a CO. He’d already been in a criminal justice program when his draft number came up, four years ago. If he had not been in college, he might have gone into infantry and been in one of these too-short cots, bleeding into clean cotton in this stuffy, tropical country. Guilt didn’t eat at him all the time, but he felt it keenly at times like these.

Major Harris was smoking and signing off on a stack of files when Gadreel approached. The doctor returned his salute with an almost sarcastic puff of smoke.

“Lt. Milton, I presume.”

“Major Harris, glad to finally be here. Sorry about the delay.”

“Well, it’s fine that you took your time, son. Tran just got the wires out of his jaw, he’ll be able to talk to you. If you came earlier, he’d be scribbling on a legal pad.” Harris shifted his cigarette.

“Can you tell me why you didn’t report him outright?”

“Well, he claimed it was an accidental discharge. Let me get the file.” He leaned over to a cardboard crate and sifted through until he found a folder. “Here we go. Had to wire his jaw shut while his bone healed. The bullet broke his mandible and two molars on the bottom. He’s been stewing here around a month.”

Gadreel sighed and opened the file, eyes sliding impassively over the photos of the fresh wound. It was easy enough to get through the gore, now that he was used to it. “Why didn’t you believe his story of an accidental discharge?”

“The jaw is an exit wound. Kid had the barrel in his mouth. Powder burn on his lips.” He spoke tersely, as though it should be obvious to the Lieutenant. “He put his own gun in his mouth and somehow managed to fuck that up, too.”

Gadreel sighed. “Tran’s embedded with the 187th infantry as a translator.”

Major Harris shrugged brusquely. “They’re getting on fine without him.”

“Well, I won’t take up more of your time, sir. May I take the file?”

“Do whatever the hell you want, Milton. Get him out one way or the other; he’s taking up a bed here.”

Gadreel stood up, put his hat back on, and saluted. The Major returned the gesture but with a delay; soldiers on base tended to get a little relaxed, and it included the brass. He ignored it. Better to pick his battles carefully.

Tran was lying on a cot in a far corner of the hospital, using a wadded-up blanket underneath his shoulders to let him look around the room. He looked thin and his hair needed to be cut. He was the only Asian patient in the facility, and stuck out with his bright, alert eyes and critical frown. The change in his attitude was palpable as he realized that Gadreel, in his dress blues, was heading over to his cot.

“I’m Lt. Milton,” he extended his hand down to the nervous translator.

“Sir. I’m Lt. Tran,” he almost murmured, and cleared his throat. It seemed that he’d gotten used to not speaking much, and it looked like it was still hard for him to move his mouth. The lower right side of his face was under a bandage, from the corner of his lip to his earlobe. The tape looked a bit superficial, and Gadreel wondered if the gauze was just to hide the new pink scars.

“I’ve been asked to look into your file and make a determination.”

Lt. Tran just nodded, looking at the cardboard of the file resting in his hands. Gadreel pulled a stool closer and sat on it. “If the case was clear-cut, they wouldn’t have called me, but the chief surgeon here… he doesn’t believe that the discharge was accidental.”

“It was though, sir. It was an accident.”

“You accidentally upholstered your sidearm, took it off safety, racked a round into the chamber, and put it in your mouth before you pulled the trigger.”   

Tran cringed. “Well, I’m… not sure exactly how it happened, sir. I don’t remember the shot.”

“Do you remember doing any of it?”

“No, sir.” Tran squirmed as the officer watched him.

“Were you drunk?” Gadreel watched his face and tried not to be distracted by how his eyes looked full to the brim. He pulled a kerchief out of his pocket, ready.

“N-no, no, sir, I wasn’t,” he sniffed and Gadreel just put the kerchief in his hand, giving him a moment. He looked away, bothered by how young he looked, despite the stubble on the parts of his jaw that he could see.

He opened the file and allowed a full twenty seconds before turning his attention back to the young translator. “Who were you with when it happened?”

“I was clowning around. I mean, we were joking around, sir. Nick and Cole and I were… I don’t know, we played cards and it was late, but next thing, I woke up here, sir.”

“Your file says you remember having the gun near the side of your face and that your finger wasn’t even on the trigger. Did you lie to Major Harris?”

“The Major never asked me himself, sir. But he keeps trying to tell me I tried to kill myself and missed.” He looked at the kerchief. “I don’t remember, but I couldn’t have done that.”

“I’m going to go to the 187th, Lt. Tran. And I’m going to have to ask around about what occurred that night.”

Tran gulped and offered him back the kerchief. Gadreel stood and shook his head. “I’ve got dozens of those, and I hear you’re short on coffee filters over here.”

\---

He hated to admit that the heat was getting to him. Late that night in the mosquito netting enclosure around his cot, he drank heavily from a contraband bottle of warm bourbon while disassembling his pistol. He counted his bullets twice before putting the gun into his mouth with the magazine empty, and moved it in his hand until the barrel lined up with where Tran’s exit wound was.

It would have been a strange shot to make. His hand was twisted around high and to the left. If Tran had wanted to off himself, it was a terrible way to do it—he was more likely to hit an artery in his neck than blow his brains out.

It didn’t feel like a suicide, that was for sure. Gadreel drank a few more sips from the bottle, just enough where his eyes felt a little bit numb, screwed the cap shut, and stowed it in the bottom of his bag. Sleep came easy.


	2. July 1976

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

Gadreel hadn’t seen his uncle Zach since before he started college, but the man was unchanged. Perhaps he seemed a little smaller, but his white hairline was exactly as he’d seen it in 1967. He had to give the older man credit for at least updating his wardrobe, although he doubted that a blue plaid suit jacket really projected his authority as his superior officer. He’d seen much more questionable wardrobe choices since arriving in San Francisco, so he just assumed it was all he could find on a Captain’s salary.

Zachariah Milton beamed and stood up. “Detective Milton, I presume.”

“Yes. Good to see you, Captain.” Gadreel smiled and shook his hand.

“I hear you’re going to be working in the precinct. We’ll keep you busy as soon as you get your feet wet.”

“I’m going to be working homicide.”

“I know. That’s good. It’s a small department.” He sat back down.

Gadreel seated himself in the small metal chair opposite his uncle’s desk. “Well, I’m sure the rest of the force is occupied with keeping it that way.”

Zach nodded knowingly. “Your partner’s been with us four years. He’s a veteran, too. Marine Corps. You’ll get used to the accent.”

“Accent?”

“He’s from Louisiana.”

“Ah.” Gadreel shrugged.

Zachariah started looking at paperwork on his desk, but still attempted polite conversation. “How’s your apartment?”

Gadreel was relieved he hadn’t brought up his problems and the past year’s family gossip. His uncle must have heard, after all; he was the one who called him to come to San Francisco for a fresh start. “It’s a condominium. East side of Twin Peaks.”

“Get all moved in?” Zach smiled tensely.

He thought of the footlocker and two boxes he’d had shipped to meet him with his duffel of clothing. He’d slept on a bedroll on the floor of his living room, where there was an east-facing window and the sunrise would wake him. “Yes.”

“That’s a good neighborhood. Clean. Not a lot of bars.” An uncomfortable quiet settled in the office. “Well, I’ve got to get some of this paperwork cleared. Your desk is down in the east corridor. Look for Lafitte. He’s almost as big as you are.”

Gadreel nodded and stood up, leaving the Captain’s office. The building hadn’t been painted on the inside in some time, and the colgate-colored walls felt a little confining. He walked down the hallway until he found a secretary who could point him in the right direction.

Lafitte apparently had an office with a door. He knocked and waited to hear anything, but when it was silent, he tried the handle and walked in. The office was ice cold and the window was open. Lafitte’s desk conveniently had a nameplate and a few files on the blotter, and the other, placed less than a half a foot away, seemed empty.

Gadreel went over and shut the window. No sense in heating the whole neighborhood in February.

He looked down at the empty desk he assumed was his, and then at the fine layer of dust on top of it.

A rapping on the window startled him just a little and his hand jumped to his hip, where his gun hadn’t been strapped for more than a couple of years.

He could only assume that the man in the peacoat filling the window frame was his partner, stuck out of the fire escape, holding a cup of coffee.

Gadreel wrenched the window open and grimaced apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone was out there.”

“S’all right. I’m sure glad you didn’t close it and leave.” The man squeezed through the opening with surprising grace for someone who seemed to have a broad set of shoulders under his wool coat. He took his hat off as soon as he was inside and set his coffee down. “Detective Lafitte. You my new partner?”

“Yep. Gadreel Milton.”

“Milton. You’re related to the Captain?”

He was a little embarrassed, although he wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide it. “He’s my uncle,” he answered honestly. “Called me in from Montana.” He decided not to mention that Zachariah had recruited him specifically to give him a second chance and a fresh break.

“You worked homicide there?”

“The department was too small to specialize, but I worked a fair share.” He shrugged and looked around his desk. “I heard you served in the Marines.”

Lafitte sighed. “Yeah, I did my time.”

It was easy to tell from his slippery glance that he didn’t want to talk about it. Gadreel nodded. “So, Lafitte, you got a first name?”

“Hah. Yeah. Call me Benny.” He smirked and extended his hand to shake. Gadreel found his fingers alarmingly cold.

“Sure. Now, why were you outside?”

“Well, that’s a real puzzler. I could go on about fresh air and sunshine, but that’s bullshit. Simple answer though is that there’s no smoking on this floor on account of Henriksen’s asthma. He’s our Sergeant.”

“Fair enough. You like the cold?”

“Hell no, but it’s way better than the heat.” He had an easy smile and Gadreel was already envious of how at ease the man seemed with him.

“Haven’t met Henriksen yet,” Gadreel volunteered.

Benny went to sit down behind his desk. “You will; he’s going to the stag party on Friday.” He slumped into the chair and rubbed his eyes.

“Oh. Am I invited?” He tried not to think about what supposedly happened during a stag.

“Well, of course. Gotta show you the town.”

“Are you getting married?”

Benny’s laughter rattled the windowpane. “No. No, sir, I am an eternal bachelor. It’s Detective Walker’s sendoff. You don’t gotta worry, we ain’t invited to the wedding. Family only.”

“Oh. That’s good. I don’t have a decent suit.”

“Still got your dress blues?”

He wasn’t sure how Benny had known. It shocked him a little. “Yeah.”

“Still fit in them?”

He shrugged, glancing to the chair behind his desk. “I think so. It’s been a while, but I’m about the same size.” Gadreel went to sit down.

“What was your rank?” Benny was picking his teeth with a toothpick that he’d somehow conjured in his hand.

“I made Lieutenant.” He looked in the top drawer and found a collection of pencils and pens, not to mention a dozen paperclips. A .44 bullet rolled around in the tray—weirdly forgotten by whomever had been in his seat last.

“Why’d you quit? Most of the brass make a career of it.”

He felt his face twitch, and saw Benny’s face fall just a little. “I… well, I was in J.A.G.”

“…was it a case that did it?”

Gadreel found some empty folders in the bottom drawer and pulled them out to organize. “I didn’t quit. I did what I signed on for.” He hoped he didn’t sound too bitter. He’d met enough disillusioned veterans after his return to never want to sound like one of those dimestore philosophers.

“All right. Well, you said you were working the occasional homicide in Montana?”

Gadreel nodded, looked at him in the eye, so his partner could see he hadn’t been angered by his line of questioning.

Benny stood back up. “Well, later you can tell me if we’re that much more exciting in the big city. Want to come to the morgue and take a peek at a few stiffs?”

He recognized that Lafitte was trying to throw him into the tall grass. He smirked softly and nodded. “Yeah, catch me up on the cases, Detective.”

\---

Lafitte wasn’t trying to shock him. No hazing ritual seemed to be present as he pulled files and talked him through the few cases that were on their docket for now.

He didn’t initially want to compare these cases to the ones he handled in Helena, however they were markedly different. For one, there were two John Does under an estimated age of thirty, and in Montana they were exceedingly rare and almost never so young.

Benny, for his part, acted as though all this were normal. “These kids get into the drugs around here. I ain’t tryin’ to turn you off to San Francisco, but there’s a reason I was so busy in Vice.”

Gadreel picked up a file and flipped it open. “Do you often solve deaths like these?”

“Without an ID, without a motive… no, it’s not often that we catch anybody.” Benny huffed. “These kids just aren’t careful. They get out here and see what’s left from the summer of love, and just snort it up their goddamn noses.”

“These aren’t drug deaths or they wouldn’t be on your desk.”

“You’re sharp,” he smirked. “Most of them didn’t die from overdoses. This one choked to death. No food in his stomach, though. Just, uh… semen.”

Gadreel made a small face. He thought it might have been accidental, but that wouldn’t be read well if he sounded sympathetic to his new partner. “Hell of a last meal,” he deadpanned. “Was he dumped?”

Benny smirked. “Yeah, left in a park. I don’t expect to solve this one. You get a lot of homosexual murderers up in Montana?”

“Not one that I can remember.” He shrugged a little. “I know San Francisco has a population here.”

Benny nodded, covering the body with a proper amount of respect. “A lot of kids are… I don’t know how else to say it. Adrift. They land here. All full of freedom and wild oats.”

“They make a lot of bad choices.” Gadreel looked to the door as Benny took the lead.

“It’s a problem, that’s for sure.”

\---

He thought later about the choices that he’d made in his life—the choices that kept him safe. He dreamed often about the path he’d never take, and woke up covered in sweat and as hard as cut diamond. He was off the hard liquor, but beer wouldn’t even touch the shame he felt as he jerked off to lurid fantasies of being held down and made to suck a cock.

Gadreel dressed for work every morning and took the bus. He habitually gave his change to the veteran who sat on a small pile of cardboard at the station he transferred to, and drank his coffee, wearing his newly-issued service weapon on his hip next to his badge. If he held his breath as the bus passed by Castro street, and if he didn’t look at the beautiful, youthful men who boarded and sat in the little blue seats, it was because he felt completely normal. There was nothing else.

\--

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised that their supervisor was African American, but he kept it off his face. Maybe it was because his partner, a man from a Southern state, hadn’t thought to mention it.

Sgt. Victor Henriksen had a firm handshake. “Is Lafitte playing nice?”

Gadreel found himself laughing a little. He had trouble imagining his partner as anything other than an amicable, scruffy man who always wore his peacoat indoors and typed with two fingers. “He’s been fine, thank you.”

“Good. I want you to go with him and notify the next of kin on one of the Doe cases Lafitte’s been handling. He’s been identified.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded.

“See you at the party Saturday.” Henriksen waved as he walked off. All in all, he seemed like a relatively relaxed boss. Mostly, Gadreel had been acclimating himself to the department by reading their reports and catching up on the cases that were still open and active.

There wasn’t a lot that really shocked him, but he was appalled at how many homosexual men ended up as a case number, as if they didn’t know the risks. He walked quietly from their office with Lafitte to the garage to where Lafitte’s car sat—a large Ford pickup with a camper shell.

“This is your car?” He tried not to sound incredulous.

Benny unlocked the cab, climbed in, and leaned across to unlock the passenger side. “Well, the keys were in my pocket this morning, so I sure hope so.”

Gadreel climbed in and sat. At least there was enough room for his legs in the cab. He belted himself in. “You’ve got the address?”

“Right. We’re headed to Oakland. Pull out the map in the glove box; you’re going to be my navigator.”

Gadreel did as he was told as they got underway, but wasn’t honestly very good at figuring out their direction using the large folded sheet, which was marked with tiny x’s in different colors of crayon. Benny was nice enough about his bumbling, and they pulled over a few times so he could point out the street that they were actually on.

Eventually, when they rolled to a stop at the curb outside the address in the neighborhood of sleepy little ranch houses, he took the map away from Gadreel and folded it up. “All right, Galahad, why don’t you take point and knock on the door?”

Gadreel didn’t bother to correct him. He’d had his share of nicknames in high school and the one Benny gave him wasn’t the worst he’d heard.

The house was understated and cute, and the door had small ornamental windows toward the top. He had always avoided doing this part himself in person. He didn’t enjoy making people sad—he supposed nobody really did—but there was something about seeing grown men cry that made him feel queasy.

He rang the doorbell and waited. The woman who appeared looked upset already, her dark hair was shot through with white, and she had pulled it back behind her head in a conservative bun. There was a cigarette in her hand.

“Yes?” she glanced from him to Lafitte around his shoulder.

“Mrs. Allard? We’re detectives from the SFPD. Here to talk about Adam. Can we come inside?” He smiled thinly.

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. Gadreel stepped into the house, and immediately saw a family portrait above the hearth that included the murder victim.

“Can I get you anything?” She hovered near the door to their kitchen.

“No, ma’am, we’re fine. We need to talk with you about the missing persons report you filed a few days ago.” Gadreel was always very conscious of his face when he had to deliver serious news. He used to worry that he would look too sympathetic, and now he worried that he looked too rigid and impassive. He tried to smile softly.

Both detectives were larger men and made the room feel cramped and tiny. She sat down on the sofa and glanced up above the fireplace, fingers weaving together tight. “Oh, god. Is he all right?”

It was strange, the way his throat wanted to close. His own mother was nothing like this woman, with her frantic concern and genuine worry. “Ma’am, we’ll need to know everything that you know about the night he went missing. But we also need to show you a picture. We think it may be your son.”

“I don’t… he’s a good boy. He wouldn’t get in trouble with any drugs. He knows better.”

Benny reached over and touched her clasped hands gently. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to look at our photo if you don’t want to. But I can see in that picture on the mantle, the one with you and your husband, and I do think… it’s him.”

Gadreel felt a little bit like an idiot. He opened the folder and closed it again. Mrs. Allard slowly collapsed into soft sobs and reached for the box of tissues. Luckily for him, Detective Lafitte knew what he was doing. He gave her time to cry until she pulled herself together, and kept his questions incredibly tactful.

“I’m sorry, but we have to know a few things, and they might be a little hard to talk about.” Benny’s voice had gone very soft, and it seemed odd coming out of the scruffy ex-marine. But it was a talent that Gadreel didn’t have. Benny cleared his throat. “Do you know where your son went on Wednesday night?”

“No, he said he went to Frank’s house—Frank is a friend of his from high school. But he wasn’t there when I called. And he hadn’t been there at all. He doesn’t lie to us usually.”

Benny nodded. “Was he ever into drugs?”

“No, not even… marijuana.” She blew her nose.

“All right, now, I know this question is going to seem rude, but you have to know that we have the utmost respect for your son. Did he ever… go with boys?”

She gulped and nodded. “Yes, he… Adam loved the theater and… he was bullied in school because of that.”

There were volumes that she wasn’t speaking, it was obvious.

“Did he have boyfriends?” Detective Lafitte’s voice was totally absent of judgement. Gadreel had no idea what to think. He found himself staring at the detective, unsure what to make of the gruff ex-marine.

She daubed her eyes. “Yes, I think so. He said he wanted his own apartment when he got a job. He didn’t… he didn’t hide around us, but he didn’t bring anyone here.”

Gadreel could feel his heart beating about as hard as it did when he was jogging. He stood up, catching his partner’s alarmingly blue eyes. Gadreel had no notion why he hadn’t noticed that the color was so vivid before. He had to say something. He hoped that he wasn’t blushing. “Sorry, may I use your restroom?”

“Oh, of course. On the left down the hallway.” Mrs. Allard blinked and dissolved into sobs.

He handed the file to his partner and followed her instructions to find a tiny yellow bathroom. He sat on the edge of the tub and tried very hard not to feel anything. This man who was murdered—this boy. His parents just didn’t care what he was. His mother would have even liked to have met his boyfriends.

Gadreel could see the top of his own head in the bathroom mirror. He sat for as long as it seemed like he could be gone without raising questions, and when he came out into the hallway, he could hear Mrs. Allard on the telephone, having a quiet, one-sided conversation. Detective Lafitte was standing in the foyer, holding the slim file of Adam Allard’s murder.

“I’m sorry, Detective.”

“I already said bye for both of us. Get in the truck.” Benny didn’t really seem disappointed or angry, but maybe he was saving that resentment for later—Gadreel had just abandoned ship while his partner took over asking questions. He couldn’t even think of the words to explain why.

Milton quietly left the house, got into the cab of the truck, and waited.

When Benny got into his truck and started it up, he let out a heavy sigh. “Back to the office. Call control, will you?”

Gadreel nodded and used the radio to let dispatch know they were on their way. He tried to relax and look out the window, but Benny was too quiet.

Eventually, when they were halfway across the bay bridge, the scruffy detective spoke. “I can take the lead on cases with kids, if you need me to.”

He cleared his throat. “He wasn't a kid, though.”

“Then, I'm sorry, but what was your deal in there?” Benny didn't look at him.

The lie, thankfully, came easy. “I was expecting that she'd deny that her son was homosexual. Or maybe she'd be angry. Honestly, I expected a much more volatile outburst.”

His partner exhaled through his teeth. “Yeah. Case like this, you never know the family situation. Is that how it went in Montana?”

“In Helena, I learned that… parents will always deny that their offspring could have done anything wrong. They just couldn't see it.”

“That how your parents are?”

He knew he looked tense and tried to relax into the cushioned bench. “Nope.”

Benny awkwardly cleared his throat. “Look, your uncle let me know you were turning over a new leaf by coming here. Getting away from your family.”

Gadreel wanted to jump from the cab of Benny's truck, but instead just played with the ashtray in the door panel on his side. “Yeah.” He said, mouth dry.

“Look, you know… there's just no pleasing some people. And whatever the situation is; your drinking problem… you gotta try not to bring it to the job.”

The air was gone from his lungs. Zachariah had talked to Benny about him, and there was no telling how much he'd said. He felt exposed. Somehow, he could still speak. “Deal,” he croaked.

\---

Gadreel got off the bus one stop before he needed to and walked up the hill. It wasn’t that his condo bothered him, even though he supposed it should, since it was so empty. He wanted to get the lay of the neighborhood, mainly, but maybe he also wanted the exercise. Gadreel didn’t think he was going soft, but he wasn’t able to do much training.

He also knew that eventually he’d have to buy a bed and maybe a table that wasn’t a wooden crate. Or a television, so he didn’t have to listen to his neighbor’s through the wall they shared.

He paused and looked in the window of a record shop, then went inside to look around. He returned the strange, impassive stare of David Bowie as he looked at a poster behind the counter for The Man Who Fell to Earth. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the movie or not.

“Can I help you find something, champ?” A girl behind the counter was reading Farenheit 451, and her hair was vibrantly red, so much so that he doubted it was genuine.

“Do you have a copy of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John?”

“Sure. We always have a couple of that one. You like glam rock?”

He wasn’t sure what that meant, really, but she seemed enthusiastic about it, so Gadreel nodded.

“Well, here’s the Elton John.”

It was the second time he’d bought the album since it came out in ‘73, but he’d left it behind in Helena. He briefly wondered if his sister had been the one to clean out his apartment. Maybe Anna had kept it.

As the girl rang him up, she pointed out a blue album with a knight riding a dragon on it in front of a yellow disc that might have been the sun or the moon. “If you’re into glam, you’ve got to check out T-Rex. This is a U.K. only release so far, but it’s just… amazing.”

“Oh. I’ve heard of them.”

“Well, yeah, everybody has. But this is right out of my boss’s suitcase. Fresh out of London.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” He took his album, still sealed in plastic, and left the shop.

Part of him was superbly grateful that there didn’t seem to be any bars on the way up the hill, but when his calves started to burn at the ascent, he regretted it a little. It would be nice to stop and sit for a while with friendly strangers.

As he pulled the key to his place out of his tan corduroy blazer, he suddenly remembered. He didn’t have a record player.

Once he was inside, leaning on the kitchen counter, he opened the plastic and unfolded the crisp cardboard to read the liner notes of the double album. He would have to make a trip to Sears over the weekend.

\---

Benny clapped him on the shoulder as it neared four o’clock on Friday. “Seein’ as you don’t drive, want a ride to the club tonight?”

Gadreel had been in the middle of writing up a very dry report, and his mind went blank for the brief moment when Benny’s hand closed over his trapezius and squeezed. He recovered well. “Yes. I mean, that sounds good. Where is it?”

“Tenderloin.”

Detective Milton was starting to just pretend that he knew the neighborhoods in San Francisco and understood their layout. “Oh, okay.”

Benny’s crooked grin let him know that the neighborhood had something unsavory going on, but it was a bachelor party for another homicide detective. He assumed there would be things going on that clean-living folk would find reprehensible, and he could only hope that it wouldn’t get back to Zachariah.

He dressed in the precinct’s locker room—tan slacks with his blazer and a blue shirt that he thought might set off his eyes. He was thankfully alone, until Benny came in to put on a tie in the mirror while he pulled his socks on. “Can never get these damn things right.”

“Need some help?” He slipped on his wingtips and made sure the buttons on his shirt were straight before going over to see.

“Yeah, do you mind?” Benny turned around. He had his hat off, and some cologne or aftershave wafted up into Detective Milton’s nostrils.

He tied Lafitte’s tie and tightened it under his collar, glimpsing Benny’s fidgeting hands. “What kind of party is it, anyway?”

“Guess I should warn you. We’re going to a strip joint. Reserved our table. Be a gentleman, yeah?” Benny smirked at him.

He nodded. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, no problem.”

Benny laughed. “Right. Well, let’s get moving, chief.”

\---

He had expected the poor lighting and the fairly inoffensive disco music, but the cleanliness of the booth surprised him. Detective Walker, the soon-to-be-married bachelor wasn’t there yet, and Henriksen was already comfortably seated at the rear of the booth with a pitcher of beer and a half-dozen empty glasses, as well as a basket of wings.

Lafitte slid in first. “Thanks for keeping the table warm. Where’s Garth and Gordon?”

“Have a beer. Garth’s driving. It’ll be a while.” Henriksen grinned as though he’d made a hilarious joke and poured two beers for Benny and Gad without asking.

“Is anyone else coming?” Gadreel asked. He worried a little about drinking around Benny, who already knew about his taste for liquor. He decided that he’d only drink things that someone else poured for him, that way he wouldn’t be rude, and probably wouldn’t get so drunk that he couldn’t walk.

Henriksen shrugged. “No. He’s going to have another party with some other friends next week, right before he gets hitched, but we’re the work party.”

Milton sipped his drink. “Oh, all right.” He had a pocket full of small bills, plus a large reserve in his wallet in case he had to chip in for a tab at the end of the evening. He hadn’t spent much of his money and had saved a tenth of every paycheck when he was in Helena. He wondered if it was impolite to offer to buy a girl for Benny. Instead of asking, he sat and drank his beer and listened to Benny and Victor talk casually about breasts.

He hadn’t seen Garth around the precinct yet, but he’d only been there a week, and had gathered that the detective was gangly, very slim, and had a penchant for cowboy hats. He could see a man fitting that description walk through the door with Gordon right behind him, and Gadreel waved to them.

“Hey, I’m Garth. You must be Gad.” The gaunt detective clapped him on the shoulder and then leaned down to hook his shoulder in an incredibly awkward hug.

Gadreel looked at Benny, who was already motioning for the girls to come closer, and pointing at Gordon with both hands.

Garth slid into the booth between Viktor and Gordon, and Benny was at Gad’s side. Gadreel ended up on the end of the row, with Gordon his opposite. His beer was empty and someone refilled it.

He leaned back and fixed a smile on his face, prepared to sit the duration of the party. Gadreel was fairly sure that he could ogle—or pretend to ogle—the girls that were coming around to flirt pointedly with Gordon.

But then his lap was suddenly full of naked limbs, long hair blocking his vision. “All right, boys,” she purred in an English accent, and shifted to sit fully on his lap. “Which one of you ordered the potato skins?”

She weighed nearly nothing. Gadreel dropped his hands to his sides and listened to the chuckles around the table as he looked to his side. Benny had a grin on his face and elbowed him amicably.

“Those are for me,” Viktor piped up.

“Here you go, luv.” She slid the tray down the table and shifted on his lap until her mostly naked bottom was right against his belt buckle. He looked to Lafitte and hoped his smile came off as awkward, rather than terrified. After a moment of tolerating the laughter of the detectives at the table, she leaned back against his chest and bounced a few times. “This seat is so lumpy.”

He had an excellent view of her cleavage from over her shoulder. He glanced down repeatedly as her breasts trembled and very nearly rippled in the tiny gold bikini that she wore.

She sprang up after a moment and leaned over to whisper something in Gordon’s ear. He glanced at her and realized that, now more than anything, the female form reminded him of art museums and staring at the artfully-posed skin before him was simply aesthetically perfect. Gadreel could appreciate her as art, at least. He was expected to stare.

“That’s Belladonna. Old friend of mine.” Benny informed him as he leaned over and refilled his glass. Apparently Benny didn’t mind him drinking, so long as they weren’t on the job.

“Oh. All right.” Gadreel’s face felt like a smiling mask. He pulled out some of his small bills and when Belladonna sat down on him again, he offered them to her. She gave him a knowing smirk and then stuffed the bills into her string bikini.

As evenings went, it wasn’t too terrible. The stripper was warm on his lap, Gordon kept getting taken off for private dances, and Garth even got up to buy a round of shots.

Gadreel didn’t cough on the burn of whiskey, but he was nervous enough to slam it back and set the shot glass on the table before producing more bills to give to Belladonna. He wished he’d had the foresight to have a little alone time before they’d arrived at the club—he just hadn’t expected that he’d have a problem, but the grind and steady pressure on the front of his slacks was making everything seem tight. Luckily, Belladonna didn’t seem to mind; if anything, she was squirming against him more. She cozied up closer to him and reached back behind to weave her nails through his hair, commenting. “So, you’re partnered with my Benny. Good.”

It was about then that he realized he’d just given her a couple of fifty dollar bills instead of the fives that he’d intended. Gadreel gulped and smiled. “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what she’d meant by “her” Benny. Had they somehow been romantically entangled? The way that he kept a watchful eye on Gadreel while she was in his lap certainly felt as though he was making sure that he kept his hands in the right places.

Gadreel believed that he was on his fourth or fifth beer, but a few hours had passed and he was sure that every time he’d lifted his glass, it had been cold and full.

The woman on his lap squirmed and reached over to Benny to whisper in his ear, and Gadreel’s hands skirted her waist before he realized exactly what he was doing. He let her go and she simply reached back and grabbed his hand, then set it back on her hip with a salacious wink over her shoulder.

Benny’s eyes were on him as he talked quietly into Belladonna’s ear, and then he gave his partner a smirk that spoke volumes.

Gadreel was completely adrift as to what that meant. Or rather, he wasn’t sure that he could keep up, if this became more intimate.

He saw nothing but Belladonna’s light brown hair for a few minutes while they settled up their tab with the club. He passed a few more bills to Benny and hoped that they were enough to cover his portion. When Benny didn’t ask for more, and Belladonna got up with a large wad of cash, he leaned over to his partner. “Are we covered?”

“Yeah, we’re square.” He smiled at him. Vic helped Garth to his feet and high-fived Gordon, who had some glitter clinging to his face and head. Gadreel wasn’t sure how that had gotten there, but he wasn’t about to ask.

He stood and held onto the back of the booth, trying to mask how tipsy he felt. People could be nervous around a drunk man over six feet in height. Not that he’d ever fallen on anyone.

Benny got out beside him. “Bela likes you.”

“Oh. Well, I gave her over a hundred dollars.”

Benny raised his eyebrows. “She’s not like that. Well, she IS like that, but trust me, she liked you before you gave her the cash.”

“Oh.” He blinked, wondering if he should feel special. “You’re good to drive, right?”

“Yeah. Club’s closing. Gonna hit the head. You coming?” He sauntered off to the bathroom and Gadreel followed. Benny thankfully didn’t look at him as he used the urinal and he generally worried about aiming more than what he usually worried about in men’s restrooms- whether or not he was staring at the other men in them.

He washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. The room still wobbled, but Benny held the door, already pulling out a cigar. “I’m gonna have a smoke at the truck; why don’t you get some water, so’s you don’t get a hangover.”

Gadreel nodded. It was a sensible idea. At the bar he was handed a glass of tap water and he drank it while he watched the other attendees settle their tabs. Nearly all of them were middle-class, older, out-of-shape white men. It was depressing to picture what the place would look like with the lights on, and not just the mirror ball with splashes of red stage lights.

A hand touched his shoulder and he turned a little at the sound of Bela’s voice. “Hello, handsome.”

He smiled, wondering why she’d complimented him. Then he remembered—the money. “Hi.”

“Walk me to my car?” She asked, putting a hand on his arm, squeezing above his elbow. Gadreel thought her nails looked dangerous, but very neat. She was wearing a short fur coat, her dangling earrings were gone, and the pants she wore were a mesmerising shiny leather.

He nodded and set the glass down on the bar. “Of course.”

Belladonna smiled and walked him out the back door of the club, past the other dancers who seemed immune to his presence in such a private place. He opened the exit door for her and she walked him to the parking garage that sat across the deserted boulevard.

He knew Benny’s truck was in the same garage somewhere, but he’d get her to her car first before he worried about finding his partner. Or he could call a cab with the remainder of his cash.

She stopped him with a tug on his arm and put her hand on his chest. Once he’d backed up into square concrete pillar, she kissed him. Her mouth tasted like cigarettes and lipstick.

He pulled back. “Belladonna, you don’t have to do this. I wasn’t trying to pay you for—”

“It’s just Bela, actually. And I would have taken your money even if I didn’t want you. You aren’t paying me for this, Detective.” She practically growled his title and reached down to cup his groin. “Felt this pressing up against my fanny all night and now I just have to see it.”

When she squeezed him and rolled his length across her palm, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say he wasn’t interested. Besides, what if—what if he really was interested in girls—albeit a very forward and aggressive one.

She matter-of-factly unzipped him and dropped to her knees. Gadreel’s eyes shot open in shock and looked around the garage, hearing and seeing nobody. He dreaded being caught like this, but Bela was so confident about it, so casual, that when she took him out and stroked him he just bit his lip and watched her in silence.

Bela set her hand on his thigh and licked at the tip, then sucked him into her mouth, which seared with wet heat.

“Oh, oh, god.” he squeezed his eyes shut and laid his head back against the column, undone by the sensation of her tongue and lips working at his cock.

This was his first time, and he’d imagined it differently. None of those innumerable sordid fantasies had included a woman. Try as he might, he couldn’t be straight in his dreams. Her mouth was making him question if he just hadn’t given the matter enough thought.

A little noise escaped his throat and she pulled back, chuckling. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

He nodded and looked down, watching her stroke him through her fist. Before he laid his head back and shut his eyes again, a glare of red caught his eye—someone was smoking at the stairwell. And watching.

He grabbed Bela by the hair and her teeth grated the underside. He gasped. The cigar flared as the man smoking it took a deep drag.

It was Benny, staying right where he was, face lit by the ember of his cigar. Bela looked up at Gadreel and batted his hands away from her perfect hair. He went back to gripping the pillar, watching his partner as the man simply stared back at them. Benny couldn’t be more than thirty feet away, and showed no sign of moving, not even a tilt of his head.

Bela slurped and lapped at the tip, and Gadreel shuddered, hips jerking just slightly. “You liked the teeth, didn’t you? You’ve gone hard as a rock.”

He didn’t bother to correct her, and couldn’t pull his eyes off of his partner. Her teeth nibbled and scraped him and he gasped, sure that he was locking eyes with Benny across the garage. He knew their color, it didn’t matter that all he could see was the orange fire reflecting.

If anything, the scrape of teeth and slight painful cringe made him wonder how it would feel from a man—would the scrape of a beard on his thighs make his muscles quiver, or would he have to widen his knees to avoid the tickle? God, what would it feel like to be the one on his knees—

His hands clenched on the pillar as he came, imagining himself going down for his partner. There were embellishments—he imagined tattoos where there probably weren’t any, and imagined how he’d fill his throat and choke off his air.

When Gadreel realized what had transpired, how Bela was already wiping her mouth daintily and climbing to her feet, he helped her up and into a kiss. His own taste slid across her tongue and into his mouth.

Her giggle surprised him. “You like that? How you taste?”

Gadreel nodded, and watched her pull a stick of bubblegum out of her purse.

“Well, I don’t.” She spat between their shoes and put the gum in her mouth.

He zipped himself up carefully, glancing up to see Benny walking to his truck, tucked rows away from the stairwell. Gadreel debated whether or not to say anything, or if he should feel insulted. “Good night,” he mumbled eventually.

Bela winked at him and climbed into a low-slung Mustang nearby. Gadreel startled out of a reverie as soon as the engine turned over. Still, he waited for the crunch of tires as she pulled out of the spot and then looked around for Benny’s truck.

His partner wasn’t parked far away. Gadreel walked over slowly and opened the door, climbing in even as he felt his face burning in shame. “I… sorry. Thanks for waiting.”

Benny’s face was oddly clear of judgment, no matter how hard he searched it. “It’s fine. What’s your address?” he asked, as he pulled out onto the street.

“Um, Twin Peaks.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that I… haven’t done that in a while.”

“Uh-huh.” Benny watched the road.

Gadreel wasn’t sure why he wanted his partner’s validation so badly. Why he felt even lower. He should be relieved that he’d been able to finally… get somewhere with a woman.  
Twenty minutes later, as he fumbled his keys into his lock, he wiped his eyes of the tears that sprang there and went inside—straight to lay down on the sleeping bag that made up his bed.

\---


	3. June 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Evans, Vietnam.

The 187th infantry was on base between operations, and had that sort of combat familiarity that was evident by the condition of their gear, and the tension apparent even when they took R&R and had a ball to kick around.

A few of them were playing soccer between the temporary barracks, kicking up a surprising amount of dust for such a humid and wet country. Gadreel observed that one or two of the eight players clasped their hands behind their backs, as if to remind themselves that they weren’t supposed to use them in the game.

Of course, he was noticed immediately. The match came to a screeching halt as the men saluted—he wasn’t sure if he was being mocked—scratch that, the smirk on one in a set of aviators told him enough about what they thought of his uniform.

“Bring me Cole Trenton and Nick Munroe.” It was best not to ask in these sorts of situations and let rank sort it out.

There wasn’t a scramble, precisely, but a few glances around the group let him know that there were already some guesses about what this was about.

“I’m P.F.C. Trenton, sir.” The first thing Milton noticed about him was that he was short, and he knew it. He tilted his head back to look up at the Lieutenant, eyes blue and brittle.

“Where’s Munroe?”  Gadreel questioned. He was sure he didn’t want to interview them together.

“KP duty.” Trenton looked back at the soccer game that was restarting and wiped his hands on his dull green shirt. “What’s this about, sir?”

“I want to know what happened to Lt. Tran.”

Cole blinked and nodded, wincing. “Yeah, that. Yes, sir, I heard he was still in the infirmary.”

“Lucky to be alive is what he is.” He watched Trenton purse his lips together. “You don’t agree?”

The Private shook his head. “No, sir, that’s not it. I just… I don’t know what really happened. He was outside the tent when his gun went off.”

“What happened before?”

“It… sir, it was a really rough day, and we had an operation get called off after we’d already hiked ten miles out, and I mean, Tran’s a college kid. He was tired. If he tried to kill himself, it’s too bad, but he’s not made for this.”

“He said he was playing cards and clowning around with you and Munroe.”

The private’s expression was tight. “Yeah, sounds about right. Look, can we talk somewhere else?”

Lt. Milton glanced at the soccer game resuming between the tents. “Walk with me,” he stated and strolled away from the men kicking the ball around.

He kept his pace slow. Cole cleared his throat about a minute after they started walking. “He’s a weird kid. I mean, I know us smaller guys kinda get a bad rep. Something to prove, right?”

“I have heard that.” He kept his smirk to a minimum.

“Well, Tran really does have something to prove.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, he gets a lot of flak from the guys about looking like a V.C., but that ain’t it. He’s… well, I’m pretty sure he’s queer.”

“You’re saying Lt. Tran is a homosexual?”  

“I don’t want to turn him in; nothin’ went on. He didn’t do anything.”

“So, how do you know he’s queer?”

“He propositioned me.” Trenton grimaced. “Like, I didn’t really know what he was asking at first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we were in the showers, he asked if I wanted to look.”  

“Oh.” Well that was certainly damning. Milton wasn’t sure he could overlook that kind of misconduct.

“Yeah, I mean, guys over here don’t get a lot, so it’s kinda known that the showers are where we get relief. But it’s not like that. No eye contact.”

Gadreel was vaguely disgusted. He chased the image of several naked men jerking off in a tent shower out of his head. “Ah,” he said.

“I know it’s gross, and maybe if it had been just that one time I wouldn’t think much of it, but like… he keeps looking at me.”

“Looking at you in an inappropriate manner?”

“Not really. Look, I wouldn’t testify on it, but that guy’s got a problem.”

Gadreel nodded. “Did he seem depressed on account of your refusing his advance?”

“No… maybe. He seemed jumpy for a while after, sir. But I thought he was back to normal.”

“Thank you, Private.”

“Yes, sir.” Cole nodded and walked away.   

Lt. Milton would have to speak with Munroe and try to reserve judgement until then, but he might recommend a Section 8 discharge for the kid anyway, just to get him out of the field. He had deep doubts about the theory that Tran had eaten his gun on purpose, but if the rest of the 187th was buying into the story that he’d tried to off himself, he’d be better off with a discharge than a court-martial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Trivia: Nick Munroe was the alias of the Siren from 4.14 "Sex and Violence" and Cole Trenton appears four times in Season 10.))


	4. July 1976

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

Gadreel awoke with a mouth that could barely open from being so dry, and a throbbing sensation that made the room spin. He glanced around his empty living room and stumbled to the kitchen sink to dip his head underneath and drink directly from the tap.

When he was fairly sure that his hangover was going to let him stand upright, he gave that a try. His eyes were level with the clock. Gadreel’s stomach lurched and rolled as soon as he realized that it was already nine. He dialed Benny’s desk, trying to think of a sufficient way to apologize.

Benny picked up on the second ring. “This is Homicide.”

“Benny. Hey. It’s Gadreel. I overslept, but I’m on my way.” He pulled his shoes on and reached for a fresh shirt.

He wasn’t expecting the detective’s laughter. “Milton, it’s Saturday. Go back to bed.”

“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his forehead. “Wait… why are you at work?”

“Look, I don’t want to bring you down after your… uh… busy night,” Benny cleared his throat. “There was a rush.”

“Morgue full?” Gadreel sat down on the floor, back against the stove.

“Pretty much. Don’t worry about it. I’m just doing the paperwork.” Benny sounded dismissive, but amused that he’d thought to call.

If he’d reflected properly on what he’d done the night before, he might not have picked up the receiver and dialed his partner’s desk. He bit his lip. “Well, let me know if you need any help.”

“Sure. Let me know if you need her number.”

Gadreel grimaced. “Yeah. See you Monday?”

“Sure, buddy, get some rest.” Benny hung up the phone.

He was left holding the receiver, the dial tone making him close his eyes. He wasn’t sure why he felt humiliated. He followed the script of what men were supposed to do with a woman, down to the part where he felt nothing for her.

He wasn’t disgusted with himself, not really. Or even with her. He wasn’t sure how he should even feel, truthfully—his upbringing had made it clear that his urges were from the devil, and that finding a woman who could keep him from hell was paramount to saving his soul. He also knew that Bela wasn’t the sort that his family’s pastor had in mind.

He wasn’t sure if he believed in any of it. He’d followed so closely, in his youth, to the biblical way of life that he wasn’t sure how he would forge a new path, but it was clear to him that his soul—if he even believed it existed—couldn’t be nurtured in the faith that his parents subscribed to.

Gadreel startled when the receiver in his hand began to blare the beep of the busy signal. He got to his feet and took a shower.

\---

On Monday, Gadreel took his bus to the precinct, with his usual transfer. The record player he’d ordered from Sears had finally arrived and it, along with a small end table to put it on, were the first brand new pieces of furniture that he’d bought since moving in.

LaFitte was out on the roof again, so Gadreel just sat down at his desk and started to look at the files in his inbox. At least a few only needed to be signed off on, but a couple were new and needed to be worked. He read through them twice—seemed that a stabbing victim had a favorite hangout in common with another, and perhaps that could link the two murders.

When Benny ambled in through the fire escape and closed the window, Gadreel nodded at him. “So… this bar was a favorite hangout of two victims, and they were found a day apart in different parts of town—Haight and Golden Gate Park?”

“That’s right. They were dumped close together, but not in the same exact spot—maybe near where the perp lives. Would be sloppy as hell, but not every murderer is a Moriarty.”

“You sure it’s the same perp?” Gadreel looked at the morgue photos.

“No, could always be a robbery gone wrong. I made a few calls over the weekend to the families. It’s in the files. The bar might link them, but at this point they’re just a couple more dead fags.”

Gadreel nodded, keeping his poker face intact. He should have guessed by the bar’s name—“The Tool Box.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and filed the information away for later.

“What are we working on today?” Gadreel asked.

“Well, first things first, Bela called me.”

He gulped. “Oh. I was… really very drunk, Benny.”

“She ain’t mad, she wanted to call you later. Figured I’d run it past you first.”

“…Lafitte, how’d she get your number?” Gadreel raised his eyebrow, and Benny looked away, bashful.

“When I was working Vice, she was an informant.”

He set down the file he’d been skimming. “Those are supposed to be confidential, aren’t they?”

“She’s not doing it anymore, and besides, you ain’t the sort to rat her out around pimps and drug dealers.”

He knew he made a face when Benny sighed. “Benny, I was drunk and… she’s not really my type,” he tried to give an answer that sounded honest without commenting on her character. “From what I remember, she seemed nice.”

Benny chuckled. “You must have been very drunk then. Most guys I know would think they got robbed.”

“No, no, the money thing was my mistake.” He rubbed his face and got up to pour himself more coffee. Having the brewer inside their office was a luxury, and he was trying to appreciate it without any cream or sugar.

Benny leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I’ll let her know you ain’t interested.”

“Thanks. So… do you think there’s some chance we solve any of these today?”

Detective Lafitte laughed softly and shook his head. “I always feel lucky in the morning.”  

The day brought very little closure to the cases at hand. Gadreel knew that detective work was generally not like it looked in the movies, where the guilty party slunk along in the shadows and disguised themselves deftly, exposed only by wet footprints in a stairwell or some other stereotypical author’s embellishment.

His mind went places while he worked, eyes passing over evidence logs and case notes, filtering facts together into a more coherent report.

When the clock got to five, Benny cleared the top of his desk, put the files away, and tipped his hat after he put it on. “Well, good evening.”

“See you tomorrow, Benny.” Gadreel waved.

\---

The week went by quickly. Benny had to go to court a few times to give testimony on an old case that was being appealed, and Gadreel familiarized himself with a few cases that were fairly open-and-shut. Jealous exes, insurance fraud, and one restaurant kitchen stabbing where the assailant had been beaten so badly with a frying pan that he was still in a coma. Milton worked the cases methodically ticking the  days off the calendar, in the evenings, he took the bus to the grocery store and brought home whatever drink he needed for the night.

He wasn’t sure if the record shop would be  open as late in the evening as when he stepped off the bus at the bottom of the hill, but the lights were on and he could see people inside. The door was unlocked. He smiled at the redhead behind the counter again and went to browse the albums.

He glanced up at her as he leafed through Queen albums. Maybe, just maybe… she might be the sort of girl that he could feel something for without damning himself. She was friendly, and talkative, and seemed genuine. The sort of woman that his parents would find appealing—not that he was looking for  _ their _ benefit.

Besides, his new turntable at home needed more records than Yellow Brick Road to play. With her recommendation in mind, he found an album by T. Rex and an album by Iggy Pop that said he collaborated with Bowie on the back.

The same poster from The Man Who Fell to Earth was hanging behind her and the cashier smiled at his album choices.

“That’s gonna be fifteen twenty. You’re gonna like this album, for sure. It’s excellent.” She tapped the Iggy Pop.

Gadreel handed over some bills and waited for her to make change, smile fixed on his face. When she gave him a few coins in return, he found his voice. “What’s your name?”

She smirked crookedly as she put the albums in a bag. “Oh, I’m Charlie.”

“Charlie. Would you like to see a movie with me this weekend?”

Her face changed very quickly and Gadreel realized he’d made a huge misstep. “Um… no, thanks.”

“Okay. My apologies. I didn’t mean to insult you.” He took his bag.

“No, it’s not insulting. It’s just that… I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh. I couldn’t tell.”

She laughed loudly. He felt like people were staring, but a quick glance around showed that the few people in the place were studiously minding their own business.

Charlie wiped an eye and sighed. “Do you think we walk around wearing a sign? Dude.”   

Gadreel was genuinely puzzled. There was nothing about her that seemed strange. “No, I just thought that… you seem very feminine.”

“You think dykes all dress like guys and get butch haircuts?”

He felt like a fool. “Well, isn’t that the point?”

Charlie scoffed. “Oh, boy. Wow, no. The point is that I like girls. Do you think that gay men all wear silk panties under their jeans? Sheesh.”

He knew his face was red. “Well… no. Suppose not.”

“All right, sorry to chew your head off. Have a nice night.” She shrugged.

Gadreel left, a welcome bluster of cold air helping him feel less flushed as he started walking up the hill. He told himself that his humiliation had been minor, that in all honestly it was entirely his poor manners that made him feel so uneasy about the whole thing.

He didn’t unwrap the records, just set the bag down on the kitchen counter and poured himself some whiskey. He’d told himself that it was for weekends and special occasions, but this felt like something he needed right now.

Gadreel went to sleep with the bottle on the floor next to his head.

\---

He called in sick the next day, and just spoke with Victor rather than with Benny, who wasn’t at his desk. It was Friday, anyway, so he continued to drink as soon as his stomach settled in the morning.

When he was out of whiskey he finally dressed himself and sat, listening to the Queen album twice through. He finished the liner notes and picked up the phone book that he used as a doorstop, reading it with a passing interest, finding places nearby that were listed in the yellow pages, trying to understand the maps of his neighborhood.  

When his eyes settled on a nondescript ad for “The Tool Box,” with the address neatly listed as 4th Street. He traced the neighborhood, fingers passing over Market Street, jogging over to Folsom a few blocks south, and then towards the bay until he found 4th. There, at the corner of Harrison Street, he found his destination.

\---

He left the house and hailed a taxi at a nearby corner with his sunglasses on and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He listed an address a little higher than the bar so that he could at least pretend that he wasn’t about to do what he was thinking about in the back of his head.

They rolled to a stop up the street and Gadreel handed over a five to the cabbie, who didn’t look at him in his rear view mirror.

The sidewalk wasn’t full or even bustling. He exited the taxi and strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, praying that he looked much more normal than he felt. None of the men on the street here matched the fragility of the obvious gays from Castro street, none quite had the youth or flamboyancy. He would never, in a million years, have guessed that any of them were queer.

A couple of men were loitering around the club’s entrance, and he felt their eyes on him as he passed by. When they went inside, he circled back and looked at the club’s door, blacked out glass windows, and the loud disco music he could hear leaking out to the street. There was  fresh paint on the bricks below- probably to hide graffiti.  A little pit of dread and cowardice was bubbling in his gut, and he swallowed shallowly as he strolled to the low steps of the front. 

He opened the club door and had to remove his sunglasses. It was so dark and smoky that he could hardly see, but the place felt crowded. The bar was a little better lit, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized that every man in the place had turned to give him an assessing glance.

Milton took a deep breath and walked slowly to the bar. When the bartender saw Gadreel, he finished making someone’s change before nodding to him. “What would you like?” The man tilted his head, his posture curved and lithe, in a way that the detective would never even attempt.

“Whiskey, neat. And keep them coming.” He tossed thirty bucks on the bar.

“Good, the ice machine’s broken.” The bartender snatched the bills up and poured him a couple of fingers in a tumbler and set it in front of him.

Gadreel settled against the bar and sipped it down. It was strange that he’d been so jittery on the way over. As though he would be found out—as if anyone he knew would be in such a dive of a gay bar. He was fairly sure that his shoes were sticking to the floor just a little—and were doing so uniformly, as though they mopped without soap.

He downed his second whiskey before really starting to check out the other men in the bar. That was an odd thing, now that he noticed it—these men were all dressed like men; no ladies blouses, some facial hair, but generally well-groomed. Something unusual that he could see was the number of handkerchiefs in the back pockets of jeans—more than he thought were normal. One or two in this crowd was a coincidence, but he saw more than eight in the room, in right or left rear pockets, in red, drab green, a couple shades of blue, and orange.

To say it was strange was a mild understatement; he knew he was missing a key component of the scene. He sat back with his third drink and finally had enough courage to meet the eyes of the other men in the bar. Most of them seemed inclined towards each other, speaking close to each other's ears and smiling.

He had never seen other men kissing. When that happened, just around the bar and next to the restrooms, he couldn’t help but stare. He set down his empty glass and found it filled almost immediately, so Gadreel returned to the show, feeling his eyes well up just a little.

He blinked back whatever horrible emotion was trying to rise to the surface and leaned on the bar. Neither one of the kissing men seemed dominant over the other, neither gave ground and certainly neither of them were feminine. After a few minutes, the two men went back to the restroom  _ together _ , and nobody in the bar paid them any mind at all.

Gadreel let the next glass mellow for a while, trying to think beyond his impulses and figure out exactly what he was there for. He’d been a little drunk for the entire day, and the fog wasn’t about to lift anytime soon. There wasn’t any doubt that he wanted something, but he was still a long way off from being able to put the thing to words. It could sit, the same way it had for years, without being said aloud.

He left his glass on the bar and walked around, towards the restrooms, his curiosity urging him on. The door past the restrooms, with an exit sign above it, was propped open with a brick, a cool breeze wafting in from the alley. Gadreel licked his dry lips and pushed the door open a tiny bit more.

There was a man leaning against the opposite wall, with another man on his knees in front of him. He stood there in the doorway for a long, aching moment, and startled at a hand that gently touched him in the small of his back.

The man behind him chuckled gently. “Like to watch?”

Gadreel almost clutched the doorframe. Out in the alley, the man on his knees moaned. He took a deep, trembling gulp of air before speaking. “I… I don’t know what I want.”

He wasn’t sure what the man behind him looked like, but he was certainly tall. The bristle of a mustache scraped gently against the back of his neck and warm breath wafted against the short hair there. The hand on his back snaked around his side and flattened against his stomach.

When the man’s hips pressed against Gadreel’s ass and ground forward, he bit his lip and nearly closed his eyes. “I’ve got you,” the man murmured. “Just relax.”

He groaned shallowly and shuddered as the pair against the alley wall shifted and the man on his knees dropped his hands. What followed was something that appeared to be brutal, but the man on his knees didn’t struggle at all, just surrendered to having his mouth and throat filled. The gurgling moans he made were an obscenity.

Gadreel gasped raggedly as the man behind him lowered his hand and stroked him through his pants. His pulse jumped and now he  _ was _ clutching the doorframe. “Oh, god,” he shivered uselessly.

“I’ve got you,” the man behind him whispered. His hand worked over the hard ridge of Gadreel’s arousal. He ached so deeply that his thighs trembled, and his cock jerked painfully against the warmth and pressure.

He couldn’t hold off, and didn’t care. The building fire and ecstasy was too important. He swallowed his cry, sounding more strangled than the man on his knees in front of him.

His pants and underwear were alarmingly wet, and the stranger behind him was still touching, rubbing his oversensitive member as he rutted against his backside. Gadreel stumbled forward, tearing his hands off the doorframe and shoving the man’s fingers away from his groin.

He walked briskly away down the alley, biting his lip at how revolting he was. He’d walked into the bar looking to be degraded and now he felt it.  

Gadreel looked down and put his sunglasses back on—the sun was still above the horizon, just barely. He walked blocks and blocks, head swimming and throbbing with whiskey. His crotch was sticky, but luckily his dark blue jeans didn’t show a wet spot or a stain.

He got on the bus at Market Street without thinking about it, sat down on a seat towards the back, and slumped against the window. Gadreel shut his eyes, and wrapped his jacket around him as though it was as cold as Montana.

\---

“End of the line, buddy.” He woke up, jerking in his seat. He hadn’t realized that he had fallen asleep, hadn’t heard his stop, and certainly hadn’t dreamed. Gadreel stood and staggered to the exit and out onto the sidewalk.

“How long ‘til the next bus?” he asked.

“About a half-hour.” The bus driver shut his doors and drove off.

He was at Ocean Beach, at the end of Golden Gate Park, facing a fading sunset. When he walked, his drying mess in his underwear pulled and pinched at him. He hadn’t been out here, even though he’d been aware of the place since his arrival in San Francisco. A few people were walking on the beach, a couple of surfers were in the water, and someone was playing fetch with their dog.

Perhaps impulsively, perhaps with the thought of sobering up, Gadreel removed his shoes and his shirt. He looked to be sure he was isolated before removing his trousers, folding them neatly and putting  them on top of his shoes. Nearly nude, he strolled to the ocean in his boxers and immediately swam into the shockingly cold water.

He hadn’t swum in the ocean since his last leave in the Philippines, and he remembered back then, he could still hear the crowded shore even after he lost sight of it. When his lungs began to burn with the icy-cold air, he stopped and bobbed in the water, well past the waves, and looked at the darkening sky.

It was incredibly quiet, and not even the sound of the waves on the beach reached his ears.

Finally, his head was clear enough of the whiskey and the noise; he could think about what had happened. Gadreel shut his eyes and floated on his back, drifting on the shifting peaks and valleys of the water.

There was something he couldn’t hide from himself, and he knew it. He was certainly, irrevocably, a queer. Maybe he could pretend long enough to get a woman into bed, but that would be despicable—considering what was in his heart. He was always going to return to places like that bar, like a moth to a flame. Gadreel couldn’t deny that the place was a filthy paradise.

Maybe he wouldn’t return to the land. Just drift until no amount of swimming would see him to the shore. But as he opened his eyes and looked at the sky, saw the lights of the city, he knew he had to go back.

It was a little bit of a struggle to swim all the way to the beach, but the burning in his limbs only encouraged him. Gadreel’s legs could barely hold him as he stood on the sand and walked a little way north to where he’d left his clothing pile. He wondered how long it would take to dry off enough to put his jeans back on.

His pile was right where he left it, but things had been moved a little—his shirt was balled up, jacket strewn flat nearby. Gadreel’s wallet was on top, badge displayed and facing the sky.

Gadreel’s clothes stank of piss and his wallet was empty of cash. He was foolishly marooned. He supposed he should be grateful that they’d left the wallet itself and only taken the bills and change from his pockets.   

A cold breeze made his teeth chatter. He couldn’t pay for the bus or a cab, and he doubted either would let him board in just his boxers, or with his clothes stinking of urine. Perhaps he could brandish his badge and they would  _ have to _ let him on. That scenario seemed clownish and ridiculous. For a moment, he despaired and contemplated the walk to Twin Peaks.

Gadreel left his clothes on the sand, walked to the payphone, and dialed a collect call to the only number in town that he knew by heart.

The woman’s faintly metallic voice intoned, “This is a collect call from:  _ “Gadreel Milton” _ will you accept the charges?”

After a few clicks, and a few seconds of silence, Benny answered his desk phone. “Hey, buddy. You forget to pay your phone bill? How sick are you?”

“I… I’m at Ocean Beach.”

“…so… not sick.” Benny sighed. “Did you lose your keys?”

“No, listen, can you pick me up? I’m in a bind.”

“All right. I’m just about to get out of here, anyway. Go stand near Lincoln; I’ll be there in a bit.”  

Gadreel hung up the phone and went to roll up his clothes—he washed them in the surf and squeezed them a little dry, hoping the smell would come out. Then he sat on a park bench and waited, trying to ignore the few cars that honked at him.

When Benny pulled up, he stood and walked over with his dripping clothes in his arms. Benny leaned over to open the door for him. “Pardon my French, but holy fuck, Galahad.”

Gadreel set his things on the floorboard and climbed into the cab. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I didn’t say you looked bad… Definitely a bunch of questions runnin’ through my mind.”

“I went for a swim, and… someone took my cash and threw my clothes in the water.”

“Shit, what about your badge?”

“They left it. Maybe felonies don’t become them.”

“You smell like whiskey, buddy. Fall off the wagon again?”

He slumped in his seat a little. “I… yeah.”

Benny started driving south along the beach. “Well,” he murmured, and somehow it was nearly a complete sentence. “Did you want to?”

“Maybe.” Gadreel answered, looking out the window. “Trying to… not feel like I need it… to fall asleep or be social.”

“Did you see combat?”

He shook his head. “No. Most of what I saw was… well, the cleanup and aftermath.”

Benny cleared his throat. “You ever want to tell me about what keeps you awake; I ain’t a shrink, but I can listen.”

Gadreel wasn’t sure that he wanted to talk about that to anyone ever. It was better left buried, but he appreciated the sentiment. Benny was his partner, but maybe also his only friend. “Yeah… thanks, Benny.”

“Now here’s my question—where do you live?” The detective grinned.

\---

Gadreel made coffee and stared at his dining room as he stood in the kitchen, considering the empty space. He hadn’t bought more whiskey, just beer, so he could relax without getting so regrettably hammered.

Benny hadn’t walked him up to the door, so thankfully he still had no idea how empty and unlived in his place was, but it had made Gadreel anxious all the same to know he might see the vacant living room and his bed set up in the corner on the floor.

He spent Saturday picking out furniture for delivery the next weekend, and when it came time to walk back to his stop to catch the bus home, he saw a shop that didn’t seem to be named besides the description of what they sold.

“Adult Toys and Videos” was on a hand-painted sign above the door, and he wasn’t in the Castro district, so maybe the place wasn’t only for gay men. If, on the odd chance that someone saw him go inside and recognized him, he wouldn’t automatically be known as gay.

For a little while, he questioned whether he could step inside, and when he did so, it was with the knowledge that he didn’t actually have to buy anything.

The place seemed to mostly sell lingerie and fake, plastic dildos.

He picked one up that was pink and small, less than the width of his thumb—it was nearest to the register and the older man standing behind it. He set it down like it was hot, instantly regretting the slapping noise it made on the counter.

“Twelve ten,” said the older man. “Unless you want lube. That’s three bucks.”

“Um. Yeah. I’ll… she’ll take some.” He pulled out a twenty and set it down on the counter.

The older man could probably tell how his knowing smile was killing Gadreel, but bagged up the items slowly, in a plain paper bag, taking his time and even folding the top. “No returns,” he croaked, and stubbed out his cigarette in his ashtray.

Gadreel snatched up the bag and left quickly.

\---

Later, that night, after four beers, he slid the thing out of the bag where he’d left it on the bathroom counter and took it into the tub with him, where he warmed it up in the water before slowly, carefully breaching his entrance with the tip.

The slight burning was something he’d expected, but not the twitching, clenching reaction he had to the insertion. He squirmed and started to stroke himself slowly, laying his head back and closing his eyes. It felt so good that he couldn’t understand why it had taken him so long; why it had frightened him to touch himself back there.

He thought of a man bending him over and pushing in, and experimentally moved the dildo further until Gadreel could rock it back and forth in himself a little faster. He massaged his rim and shivered—there was a whole volume of sensations he’d never thought might come from this sort of touching, and while they were colored with shame, he knew that any guilt he felt about this was because of the way men were supposed to be.

He’d now accepted that he, himself, was never going to be “the way men were supposed to be.” Normal life had sailed and left him on this decadent shore.

Gadreel twisted the toy and touched something that made him jerk and clench, and he shyly ran the tip of the dildo back and forth over the spot again and again, opening his eyes to watch his cock stick out of the water and leak over the back of his hand. It felt so good that he kept up with it, stroking himself both inside and out, until he came with a soft, almost silent moan.

He rinsed off his hand and reached for his beer, sleepy and thoughtful. Maybe he was sliding down a slippery slope into full debauchment and his morals were truly impaired. All he knew, right at this moment, was that he didn’t feel nearly as filthy.


	5. June 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Evans, Vietnam.

He finally got Nick Munroe alone after dinner, when his shift ended. The thick-necked man was busily smoking a cigarette out behind the latrines. For various reasons, Gadreel preferred to not pull men out of their assigned duties for interviews. The slightly more relaxed environment of a casual approach made for a greater amount of information.

Munroe saw him coming. He straightened his back and stubbed out his cigarette. “Sir.”

“At ease, Private.”

“What brings you to the latrines?”

“Not the usual business.”

Munroe’s eyebrows raised and for a moment he smirked, but then he frowned again. “You here to entrap me?”

“I wanted to ask you about Lt. Tran.” This was probably not the best way to begin their conversation.

“Oh. Well… sir, ask away.” He sighed and fidgeted with his zippo.

“He was with you when he was injured, wasn’t he?”

“Y… yeah, I was standing right next to him.”

“So… you didn’t see him put the gun into his mouth?”

“Why, what did he say?”

“Well, he can talk now, which makes him a pretty interesting conversationalist.”

Munroe blanched and scratched at the stubble on his chin and then the private cleared his throat. “Yeah, well… I guess killing yourself can look like a good idea to a guy like that.”

“A guy like what?”

“Sir, I came out here to take a shit, not be interrogated. If you’ve got an accusation, you should just come out with it.”  Munroe was jumpy as hell, not to mention insubordinate.

“Even privates know to drop trou inside the latrines, not hang out and enjoy the smell.”

“I come out here to get some peace and quiet.” The private snarled.

“What have you got to say about Lt. Tran, Private?”

“He’s a fucking queer.”

“So you shot him?”

“No sir--- I didn’t stop him, either.”

Gadreel felt his fist clench- this was why he didn’t play poker. He had more than a few tells.  He watched Munroe’s eyes jump down to his hand and pondered planting his knuckles into the Private’s jaw. It wasn’t a scenario that would end well, but there was a sliver of satisfaction in just thinking about beating the man within an inch of consciousness.  

He wasn’t sure why this situation bothered him so much, but now he wanted some bourbon to bury it.

“I’m going to speak to your commander about your tone.” Lt. Milton narrowed his eyes at him and turned away from the Private, and for a moment he thought that Nick might attack him. As he walked away he tried to relax, but didn’t feel his hands completely unclench until he picked up the bottle in his footlocker.

****  
  



	6. January 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

Detective Milton felt as though he had finally started to settle into the department fully. He was also aware that it took him longer than most men to settle into a role, to relax enough to be genuine and less guarded.

Not that he was out of the closet. He’d made himself an island, kept his gazes at attractive men brief and fleeting, and never taken a taxi down to a gay bar again. He dreamed of it often, but he’d seldom taken a bottle of whiskey home from the grocery store, and was doing fine with having a beer here and there.

His furniture had been delivered, making his place much more cozy and lived-in. It all matched, too. One of the benefits of ordering it all from the same catalog. He had a bed in a proper room—but he often ended up sleeping on his living room couch just because his bedroom had no windows. It still didn’t really feel like his, and even the poster for “The Great Escape” didn’t seem to be enough to make it seem lived in. So, he’d been buying books, dozens of paperbacks. Mostly Heinlein, a couple of Vonnegut, and a lot of short story paperbacks of science fiction anthologies. More than anything, the books helped him to feel like he was at home.

His partner had been tense, and Gadreel just assumed it was because he’d missed Christmas and New Years with his folks, who were apparently still somewhere in Louisiana or Mississippi. He saw him glower at a file now and then, one that had come across their desk just a day before the holiday.

Usually, Gadreel felt like he could ask him anything about a case, whether he was speculating or not. But for whatever reason, he couldn’t figure why Benny kept opening the file and frowning, and that made him a little nervous.

“Can I see?” Gadreel gestured to the manilla folder.

“Yeah, here.” Benny handed it over and sat down behind his desk. He didn’t smile.

He opened the file to a photo of the face of a body in the morgue that had come in Christmas Day. There were cuts on the face, as well as a dark hole stretching wide under the jaw. It was obvious that the body was that of a man, despite the smears of red lipstick on his lips and the streaks of mascara from his eyes. The name was unremarkable; Walter Dixon, age 28, whose profession had once been reported on a census form as a screenwriter. Dixon had a record with two arrests for solicitation, and it was safe to assume that he was a prostitute more often than he was a screenwriter. The makeup and the evidence of a bloodied and cut short dress just backed up that notion. Gadreel looked for interview notes in the back of the file, thinking that perhaps Benny had already interviewed the contacts and next of kin, but he found only names and addresses.

Detective Milton cleared his throat. “Benny, have you contacted the next of kin for an interview?”

Benny sat back in his chair. “Not yet, no. Holidays, you know. They were hard to get in contact with.”

“Yeah, understood. Any new evidence?”

“The victim was better known as Lily LaRue. You’ll probably want to use that name when you call her… his friends.”

Gadreel almost questioned the mix-up. Maybe Benny was having a hard time with the case because he found female impersonators confusing, but at this point it was only conjecture. “Right. I can take lead on this one.”

“All right, if you like.”

Gadreel picked up the phone and dialed the number in the file.

A voice on the other end of the line picked up. It was feminine, genteel, and sounded well-mannered. “Duval residence, this is Violet.”

“Hello, Violet. This is Detective Milton with the SFPD. I’d like to arrange an interview with Julian Duval.”

“Oh. Is this about Lily?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watched Benny open the window and climb out on the fire escape.

He made arrangements to do an interview at the Duval’s house in a few hours, and then started to look at the bus schedules to figure out how he was going to get to Ashbury Street.

Benny climbed back in the window and shut it all the way, before shrugging out of his coat. He paused a little when he saw the bus maps. “You can always borrow a car from the motor pool.”

“No driver’s license.”

“Well… why the hell not?”

Gadreel knew his smile was thin. “This city has a great transit system. And no parking.”

“Well… I’ll drive you. It’s our case.” He sat down in his chair with a sigh. “After lunch, right?”

He closed the file. “Sure.”

\---

Benny’s truck rumbled to a stop and the detective stayed put as Gadreel opened the passenger side. He looked back, and Benny cut the engine and sighed. “I’m gonna stay out here.”

He blinked, but wasn’t really surprised. He took a notebook up the steps and knocked on the door.

The woman who opened it was well dressed in a blue sweater and a long white skirt, with brown hair that was pulled back in a low ponytail. “Hello, are you the detective?”

“Yes, I’m Detective Milton.” He showed his badge and she looked at it, seeming more interested in how clean his nails were than the validity of his shield.

“I’m Violet Duval. Come in.” She stood aside of the door and he walked into the well-appointed entryway. Her voice gave nothing away besides perhaps an East-Coast education.

Detective Milton walked softly across their old, but well-kept carpets. She led him into the tidy, small kitchen and sighed. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee?”

“If you’re making some.” Gadreel stood near the door. “Did you know Dixon?”

“Who? Oh god, that was his name?”

“Sorry, did you know him as LaRue?”

“Yeah, Lily.”

“Were you familiar with him?”

“Julian had him here upstairs once or twice.” She poured a cup of coffee and set it on the counter for him. “Cream and sugar in the fridge.”  

He nodded and picked it up to sip. “I should speak to Julian first. We’re trying to develop a timeline for the night LaRue was murdered.”

“He’s upstairs; I told him you were coming.”

“Thank you.” He took the cup and the notepad up the creaking stairs.

There was a bedroom door open adjacent to the landing, and through it he could see an unspeakably tacky poster from Clockwork Orange and a four-poster bed. Detective Milton knocked on the doorframe. “Hello?”

The door opened the rest of the way; a brown-haired man with lighter eyes frowned at him. “You’re the detective?”

“Yes, I’m Detective Milton.” He showed his badge and waited to be let in.

“Well, I’m Julian. Did you find who killed my friend yet?” He wasn’t quite irate, but his tone was certainly flippant.

“No. We’re trying to piece together a timeline of Lily’s whereabouts.”

“Well, I don’t know. Someone stabbed her on Christmas Eve, and she wasn’t at my family’s get-together.”

Gadreel spoke. “We weren’t able to find any of his family in the area.”

“ _She_ picked her own family. Have you talked to any of the girls on Christopher Street?”

“You’re the first to be interviewed, but I’ll ask around down there.”

“Try not to look like a cop when you do. Those queens can smell pork from a mile away.” He sat down on his bed and crossed his arms petulantly.

“I’m very sorry your friend was murdered. Were you aware if LaRue had any enemies?”

Julian laughed. “Queers don’t need enemies. What happened to her?”

“I can’t share details of the investigation, Mr. Duval. I know you want to know, but it’s important that the case details stay secret until the court case.”

“Like this will ever go to trial. She’s dead. People stomp fags all the time, even in this town.”

Gadreel knew he was making a face. He noted Julian’s remarks on the pad as _“J. D.: Advised visiting Christopher St.”_ He cleared his throat. “Were you aware of any clients LaRue may have had?”

Julian sprang from the bed angrily and paced back and forth between the short space of the window and his closet. “Lily was an artist. She didn’t do that for money.”

“He had convictions for solicitation on his record.”

Julian banged his dresser and ran his hands through his hair, sighing. “All you need to do in this fucking town to get arrested for that is talk to an undercover cop who says ‘hello.’ It’s entrapment, and you know it.”

He ignored the outburst. “Did LaRue have any friends you’d care to name?”

“She had loads of friends. Doubt any of them will talk to _you._ ”

Gadreel sighed. “I know you feel that we won’t investigate this as well as we should. But I can’t investigate what happened to LaRue unless I know who she was friends with.”

He kept pacing. “She was a social butterfly, I guess you could try the theater at Castro, or maybe the Twin Peaks Bar.”

Gadreel noted both locations down. “Do you have any names that I could start with?”

“You aren’t gonna take any of them seriously—look, that guy right out there in the truck, he dropped you off and he won’t even come in here and show his face.” He banged on the window frame and froze. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

“What is it, Julian?”

“He—He dropped you off, didn’t he?”

“What is it about him?”

“He’s a cop. He’s a fucking cop.”

Gadreel looked out the window over Julian’s shoulder. Benny was smoking in his truck with the window down, oblivious. “Well… yes. My partner is a Detective.”

Julian turned and leaned on the wall, stunned. “ _Shit._ He’s gotta be… look, I don’t know anything.”

“You’ve seen him before.”

“No. Never in my life.” Julian slid away from him along the wall.

It wasn’t hard to tell that he was scared shitless. Gadreel pulled out a card with his desk phone number on it, as well as his badge number. “All right. If you think of anything you want to tell me, give me a call or leave a message with the switchboard.”

Julian took the card quickly, gulping. “Okay.”

Gadreel glanced out the window and clenched his jaw. He didn’t like what he was thinking about his partner.

He left the apartment and walked to the truck, taking a moment to relax a little before he got inside. “We can go.”

Benny nodded and started the truck.

They didn’t speak for a while, just took the turns around Buena Vista Park. Gadreel just came out with it. “They recognized you.”

Lafitte sighed. “Oh.”

“No explanation, Benny?”

Lafitte turned down a small street away from the park, and then down an alley where he brought the truck to a halt and silenced the engine with a tense crank of his wrist.

Gadreel found himself bracing for a hit, expecting a fist or an elbow to the jaw.

Benny took a deep breath, his chest swelling as he slumped back in his seat. “I knew Lily, yeah.”

“I… understand why you wouldn’t want to be mentioned in a report, but if you know someth—”

“I don’t know anything.” Benny pulled out his service .38 and set it on his thigh. “Be quiet while I think a spell.”

Gadreel looked at the polished silver revolver with its wood grip, noticing that it had a worn scuff from years of the piece rubbing against Benny’s leather belt. He gulped and waited, fingers twitching. He didn’t think Benny would kill him, but it was clear his partner felt cornered.

When Benny started talking his voice almost didn’t sound like his own—it was thick with the tears he was holding back. “She wasn’t a hooker. Not a mean bone in her body, goddamnit. She was real funny on the stage… So friendly. Always. She had a sharp tongue, but always nice to people first. Nice to me, for one. And _my_ old partner busted her for hookin’.

“She didn’t deserve it.” Benny cleared his throat. “Not that anybody deserves that. Jesus, I went to the morgue. I saw the name and I went down there. It was Christmas and I almost called you in. But I knew you were at your uncle’s. And I knew you wouldn’t get it. It’s not just another dead homo.”

Gadreel almost interrupted at that, but knew Benny needed to get it out.

He put his hand on top of his gun, just covering it instead of picking it up. “There’s… there’s a serial killer out there, Milton. But the Captain won’t hear it without proof, doesn’t want the papers to hear about it. And I was working on it.”

“I can help you, but they’ll want you off the case if they find out Lily was your girlfriend.”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend, Milton. ” Benny’s voice had an incalculable amount of anger in it.

“That’s fine, just go on the record with what you know an—”

Benny’s gun was under Gadreel’s chin, snapping his mouth shut with the press of the barrel. He had to suppress his instinct to pull his gun, and his hands jerked as they gripped the seat. Gadreel leaned back until his head touched the passenger door.

“I will **_lose_** my job.”

“No, no, there’s no cause, Benny.”

“It doesn’t matter. If they know I’m gay, I’m finished.”

Gadreel gulped and shut his eyes. “I… I know.”

Benny lowered the gun slowly and leaned back to his side of the truck. He wiped his face and sighed, looking away from his partner in shame.

His mouth felt dry, and he almost said it aloud. Gadreel took a deep breath and looked out at the empty street.

“I’m sorry,” Benny croaked.

“I’m gay.” Gadreel bit his lip.

Benny slowly turned his head towards him. “What?”

Milton felt a little hysterical tremor in his throat and found himself making a choked off noise—he had to breathe deep and close his eyes a few seconds. When he finally felt like he could speak without laughing or sobbing, he glanced to his partner. “I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay.” Benny nodded repeatedly, and tucked the gun away, wiped his face, and started the truck.  

“Okay? What’s ‘okay’?”

“I don’t think you’d lie about that.” Benny sighed and started coasting down the alley.

Gadreel shut his eyes for a moment. His stomach was tied in knots and his heart was still going too fast. “How do you know there’s a serial killer?”

Lafitte glanced over at him. “Could be the same knife.”

“That’s not enough to be sure.”

“I know. There’s also… look, I don’t want to bring you in on this.”

“Why not?”

Benny looked at the road for a few seconds, perhaps weighing what he should say. “Your uncle doesn’t want the case solved.”

“Then we make it airtight, so it can’t be denied.”

Benny nodded quietly and drove them back to the precinct. He didn’t seem to want to talk further, and when they got back to their office, he went out to the roof to smoke some more.

Gadreel sat down behind his desk. He had no idea what to make of this—whether his partner and he would have a different relationship, whether Benny would act differently around him—and if Gadreel himself would be any different now.

He was forced to conclude that their situation was unchanged. His partner wasn’t any more prepared to come out of the closet than he was, and he doubted he’d want to talk about it ever again.

He stared at his desk blankly  and sighed. Tomorrow he would canvas Christopher Street alone and see if anyone there would give him a lead. He was sure that the victim’s apartment had been looked at, but nothing of note was in the evidence log from there—wherever Walter Dixon, or Lily LaRue, had met his or her end, it obviously wasn’t at their residence.

He left the office before Benny returned from the fire escape, and headed home, stopping at a grocery store to buy a bottle of single-malt scotch. He had tomorrow planned and the rest of the day was a wash.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Trivia: Walter Dixon, A.K.A. Lily LaRue, appeared in 2.18 "Hollywood Babylon." Violet and Julian Duval appear in 9.20 "Bloodlines."))


	7. June 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Evans, Vietnam.

He went to the hospital tent in the middle of the night, when it would be quiet. There were still enough lights on for him to see his way to Lt. Tran’s bed, and Gadreel sat up in a folding chair next to the sleeping kid.

Not that age comparisons were entirely fair. Tran was 20. Gadreel was 25. Five years difference didn’t make him a child, nor did the translator’s small size. Maybe it was that he was so vulnerable, hanging between two entirely different sets of charges. He wished he didn’t feel so sober.

Someone on the other side of the tent was moaning for more morphine. Lt. Tran woke up and shifted, then startled when he saw Gadreel sitting in the dark next to his bed.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Lieutenant Milton. I figured you would be in your dress blues.” Tran smirked a little and rolled all the way onto his back, touching his bandage when talking pulled at it.

“I like to make an impression, but on base, khakis are better.”

“It’s the middle of the night. If you want to blend in, maybe we could talk during the day.”

“Considering everything I heard from the men in your unit, I think you would probably like this conversation to be as private as possible.”

Tran looked down at his feet where they tented the blankets. “Ah. What did they say?”

“Two of the men in your unit claim that you are a homosexual. And that you likely attempted to kill yourself when your advances were refused.”

He watched his face contort. Everything about this was just too cruel. When he saw Kevin’s mouth twitch to try to form some kind of half-baked denial, he continued.

“I think Munroe put your own gun in your mouth, while you were down on your knees.”

Lt. Tran took a shaky breath. “I… that’s not true.”

“You said you don’t remember.” Gadreel kept his voice very low. The last thing they needed was to disturb the nursing staff.

Kevin looked afraid. “I don’t. They make fun of me, but they wouldn’t try to kill me.”

“If you admit to being a homosexual, you can go home as early as next week.”

Kevin clenched his jaw for a moment and winced, merely shook his head. “I’m not taking a dishonorable discharge.”

“You could go back to college, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll do that anyway with the G.I. bill, sir.” Tran’s voice was hushed, but he was vehement.

“I have two men in your unit who have already told me that you’re prone to making advances on them. How many others would have similar stories?”

“Sir. I have not engaged in homosexual activities with anyone, ever in my life. I don’t know how many ways I can say it.”

“Did you think the uniform was going to fix you?”

The intake of breath from the young translator made him look up. Tran had his arms crossed around his torso, hands balled into fists. His dark eyes darted nervously between the ceiling of the tent and the officer questioning him. It took him a long time to speak again. “All I want is to go back to doing my job. I’m an asset to the army, sir.”

He nodded and sighed. “I’ve seen your record, it was spotless before this.”

“I’m not trying to get an early discharge or go home. I want to be back in the field.”

“With the 187th?”

“No, I could go to the 63rd, they’re camped here too.”

“Lieutenant, I can only control whether you’re discharged or not. If you stay, you can apply for a transfer through the usual channels.”

Kevin’s face told him that this wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but the translator nodded. “So… no charges?”

“You’ll be given a formal reprimand for careless handling of your weapon. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Kevin nodded hesitantly. “Thank you, sir.”

Lt. Milton had a pit in his stomach as he left the hospital tent. It remained with him the entire time he signed the report and sealed it in an envelope to command. He slept fitfully that night, the smallness of his cot feeling confined and claustrophobic.


	8. February 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

Gadreel finally felt as though he had a clear enough description of the murderer in the Lily LaRue case, pieced together from seven or so interviews, so he took it down to the police sketch artist where he worked in the basement of the building. There were papers pinned along the hallway wall—drawings of suspects, some with the tape yellowed and some with the corners folded or torn. He had been down here a few dozen times in his first year, and he was always struck by how low the ceiling was, and how the Captain didn’t seem to mind that the records and sketch people kept the place in a state of semi-disorder.

He walked into the small art office and knocked on the doorframe. “Hey, Winchester, got a minute?”

Henry turned on his stool from the drafting table where he had a few drawings set up. “Oh, hello. Milton, right? Homicide?”

“Yep, do you have some time?”

Henry shrugged, his gray hair a little at-odds with such an informal gesture. He was, again, wearing a bow tie that Gadreel would describe as quirky, but Benny would call tacky. “I can fit in a couple more this week. Got any witnesses for me to talk to?”

“Actually, I’ve already talked to the witnesses. Took notes for you.”

“You know… usually, it’s my job to get descriptions directly.”

Gadreel nodded. “I know. They weren’t willing to go on the record, and the sketch is of a Person of Interest, rather than a suspect. I just need something to show around town.”

Henry nodded, smiling thinly. He would have been devastatingly attractive thirty years ago, and even now he was still quite handsome, despite his more advanced age and thin, white hair. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Gadreel handed over a page of notes, listing things like the height, build, eye color, for a man that none of Lily’s friends had been able to name. They had referenced him as an “admirer,” but they’d also seen Lily and the same man being social together. They had described sideburns and longish hair, which meant that roughly 80 percent of the male population of Haight Street fit the description.

Henry glanced it over. “It would be much better if I could get it from the horse’s mouth, Milton.”

“Don’t you think you can draw him?”

“I can draw anything.” Henry shrugged and took the description, frowning as he squinted at the paper. Maybe Gadreel had bruised his ego. “I’ll just get started.”

“This office seems small.” Gadreel said, as Henry picked up a sharpened pencil. The shelves were crammed with binders, notes and drawings.

Henry glanced over. “I’ll bring this up to your desk when I’m done, Detective.”

Gadreel nodded and left the small room.

\---

It was a very rainy day, and oddly, in San Francisco, it seemed like it always rained when the sun was out. Wind slapped sheets of water against the windows, and yet the sun was glinting up off the street and lighting the office. Gadreel liked the weather well enough when he wasn’t in it directly, and paused in his reports to stare outside whenever he came to the end of a particularly procedural piece of writing.  

Benny seemed to be in a foul mood about the bay floater they’d landed that week. Maybe it was just that the victim wasn’t the kind of person that would be missed, and the list of suspects was about a mile long. Cases like this were demoralizing and hurt their solve rate.

“Hey, Galahad. What are you doing later?”

Gadreel blinked and made a mistake on the report he was typing up. “You mean… after work?”

“That was generally what I was asking.” Lafitte raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Good. I’ll come over at 7. You like pizza?”

Gadreel was baffled. “Sure.”

\---

Detective Milton headed home on the bus. He was still surprised that Benny had invited himself over, weeks after they’d both confessed in the cab of his truck. Without a word spoken about it, he’d just assumed that it was water under the bridge.

When he got home he started cleaning up cans and bottles in the kitchen. He’d really let the place slide, so he started scrubbing dishes and swept the living room. He wasn’t sure when he’d bought so much whiskey and scotch. It seemed that when he went to get his groceries, somehow the bottle found its way to the checkout line with him.

It was dark by the time Benny knocked on the door, six-pack of beer in one hand, and a couple of medium pizzas balanced on the palm of the other.

“Hey, Benny. Come in.”

“Glad the rain let up.” The detective commented as he ambled inside.

“What kind of pizza?” He moved to take the boxes from Benny, and found them light and cold.

“The serial killer kind.” He shut the door behind him.

Detective Milton frowned in puzzlement and opened a box—the cardboard was stained with grease, but a thick manilla file sat where their dinner should be. “Ah, I see.”

“Relax. I’ll use your phone and order delivery from Bravo.”

Gadreel had to admire his ruse. He opened the other box, it contained a slimmer envelope that was stamped with a date and taped shut with an evidence seal. The tape had already been cut neatly.

“With a side of evidence tampering. My favorite topping.”

Benny laughed, even though it wasn’t that funny, and cracked open one of his beers. “We can’t work on this case at the office.”

Lafitte went to order a pizza on his phone. Gadreel didn’t mention that he didn’t think anything Benny had brought would be admissible to a judge or jury because he’d gone around official channels. They could build a case with the leads in the files, or at least start to get a picture of a possible suspect.

He sat down with the file at his dining table and opened it up, making a rough survey. He had to admit, the pattern looked thin. Five victims were drag queens, a few others were known to enjoy sado-masochism, and a few were upper-class businessmen. Some were stabbed, killed quickly, and others were nearly dismembered in their own apartments.

Gadreel got to the photographs and decided he needed a drink. It was alarming how much his stomach turned at the sight of facial injuries. Of course, he knew why, but there wasn’t any helping it. All he could do was numb the feeling.

Benny was in the house, so he got two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of scotch to share. He took them to the table and poured them both a couple of fingers. It was fancier than usual. Gadreel didn’t usually bother with a glass. He skipped the rest of the crime scene photographs, noting that only the ones killed in public were killed quietly, throats cut efficiently.

He was beginning to doubt that there was a correlation, and then he saw the notes—evidence of sexual activity shortly before the time of death. All right, their killer might be a romantic, but that by itself wasn't enough. The link was obscure and seemingly benign; pencil shavings were found in every victim’s home, or drawings were nearby. One had been tucked in a victim's pocket.

Benny was watching him drink as he squinted through the evidence.

“Pencil shavings?”

“Look in the evidence envelope.”

He shifted the papers and opened the envelope. Something about the wrongness of the broken evidence tape made his skin crawl just a little.

Inside were several meticulous drawings of nude men on lined and unlined paper. They were obviously made by someone talented, and the variety of poses and physical builds of the men showed an academically trained background. “He’s an artist.”

“The press started calling him The Black Doodler. Or sometimes just The Doodler.”

“He left these drawings at the scene?”

“At the victim’s houses. Which isn’t always the scene of the murder. But that’s his M.O. He makes drawings. Not sure if he has sex with them before or after.”

“Why hasn’t this been on our desk?”

Benny shrugged. “Seventeen victims. How many were in the file?”

“Not seventeen.” Gadreel was fairly certain.

Benny sipped his beer and nodded. He took a deep breath. “Fourteen in the file. Three men survived.”

Gadreel blinked. That was unusual. “Where are their files?”

“Missing.”

“No shit.” Gadreel sighed.

“Did I just hear you swear?” Benny cracked a reluctant grin.

“We’re not in the office. Why are they missing?”

“One of them might be a diplomat, or a movie star. Either way, they refused to testify and their lawyers got involved, quashed it.”

“So, this went to a prosecutor?”

“Briefly. It nearly bounced off his desk.” Benny sighed.

“Too hot?”

“No witnesses willing to come forward, no evidence to place him at the scene besides pencil shavings, no murder weapon. They even redacted the name of the suspect. Can’t get my hands on that file.”

Gadreel sighed. “He can claim he made the drawing at any time, if they manage to catch him again. These aren’t signed or dated.” He looked at the drawings again before putting them away.

“Everything about it’s been driving me nuts.”

Gadreel nodded. “I can see why.” He looked at the files again. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say he might not plan to murder these men.”

“What do you mean?”

“He left three of them when they were still breathing. Stabbed the rest of his victims more than once. It looks to me like he was mad at them.”

The doorbell rang. Benny nodded and got up to pay for the pizza delivery, and Gadreel stacked the papers back into the file quickly.  

When Benny came over with the box and finally sat down, he sighed. “Hope this wasn’t too much to spring on you, brother.”

“No, it’s… Nobody else was going to touch this case. Have you built up a profile?”

Benny nodded and offered him a slice. “White, mid- to late-twenties, tall, possibly a college graduate in arts.”

“His behavior seems impulsive. The victims are all over the map.” Gadreel took a bite and chewed.

“Most of the earlier ones were closeted.”

“Like us.”

“Hey, easy there.” Benny sipped his beer.

Gadreel shrugged and took another bite, and looked out the window. He shouldn’t have brought up their mutual predicament.

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“How’s what going?” He blinked at Benny, vaguely alarmed.

“Got a boyfriend?” Benny’s tone was vaguely teasing.

“No. God, no.” Gadreel laughed thinly, looking away from the table to the empty bedroom that seemed too desolate and sunless to sleep in.

“Why not?”

Gadreel couldn’t believe they were actually talking about this. He let out an exasperated sigh and gulped his whiskey. “I can’t. I’m too old, I don’t know anything, and the minute they know my name, they can ruin my life.”

Benny was quiet for a few seconds, chewing thoughtfully. “You a virgin?”

Gadreel made a face at his whiskey glass. “Yeah.” He didn’t look at Benny.

“You’re what… thirty?”

Gadreel nodded, wishing he could vanish from his own dining room.

“Do you even know what you like?”

“I thought you came here to talk about the case.” His fist wouldn’t come away from where it was clutching his glass.

“You can trust me, Milton.”

He took a drink and stared at Benny’s untouched whiskey. Gadreel took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be in charge.” That was about as much as he felt he could say safely, even to his partner, in his own home.

Benny bit his lip and shifted in his seat. “Uh huh.”

“But… I can’t just go to an alley and get on my knees. I won’t.” Gadreel rubbed his face.

Benny might have been blushing just a little. “Ah. What about right here?”

Gadreel’s eyes shot up and he gulped, then shook his head. “You don’t want me. I’m not… one of those… pretty boys from Castro Street.”

Benny sat silently and watched as Gadreel shakily poured himself another glass and started to drink. The uncomfortable quiet as he watched his adam’s apple bob was nearly enough to make Gadreel want to leave his own apartment.

“Let’s make a deal. You don’t tell me what I want.” Benny’s voice was nearly a growl.

Detective Milton blinked, throat stinging from the whiskey. He nodded.

Benny stood up. “You just tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing.”  He slowly walked around the table, looking down at Gadreel as he hunched over the table.

He paused before dropping to his knees beside him. “Look at me, Milton.”

The order made him straighten his spine. He turned his head to look at Benny, who was close, head at his shoulder. Gadreel gulped and set his glass down on the table with a dull clink, the only sound in the apartment.

Slowly, Benny placed his hands on the either side of his head and pulled him close to kiss him carefully.

Gadreel couldn’t quite relax, but after his partner kept kissing him even as he gasped for breath, he reached for Benny’s shirt and grabbed on. What he wanted couldn’t be measured, or even said aloud. He leaned into the kiss, trying with all his might to forget who he was supposed to be.

He couldn’t forget it, and after he gave up a reluctant moan, he pushed Benny back.

Benny let go of Gadreel and sat back on the floor. “What is it?”

“I… what about work?”

“We won’t do this at work.”  Benny smirked, even though his tone was deadly serious.

“The bedroom.” Gadreel stood up and picked up the bottle of whiskey to take with him, then helped Benny stand up off the floor.

He glanced at the bottle that Gadreel held tightly, nearly white-knuckled. “C’mere.” Benny led him by the other hand to the back of the condo, where the house dug into the slope of the hill and his bedroom nested, one of only four rooms in the place. He dropped Gadreel’s hand when he entered and took off his coat, draping it over a dresser.

Gadreel gulped from the bottle like it was water and stared at the broad expanse of Benny’s back, criss-crossed by the brown leather of his shoulder holster. Benny looked at him and slowly reached for the whiskey.

He had to look at Benny’s eyes to realize that he should let go of the bottle, and he wasn’t sure why. Why they were so blue, or so sad. “I’m sorry,” Gadreel whispered.

“You ain’t disappointed me none.” He took a deep drink and grimaced as he swallowed.

“Tell me what to do.”

Benny licked his lips, set the bottle down on the dresser, and closed the bedroom door. “Sit down on the bed and unbutton your shirt, Milton.”

He clenched his jaw as he obeyed. Benny came over and stood in front of him, looking down at Gadreel’s fingers as he unfastened his buttons, and wove his hands through Gadreel’s hair, tilting his head back to make him look up.

“God, look at you.” Benny’s thumb pressed against his bottom lip. “I never woulda guessed that you’d want this old man. You sure that you do?”

Gadreel glanced to the closed door of his bedroom, thinking, for a moment, that he could get away and Benny wouldn’t stop him. But he couldn’t keep running from this. And Benny was masculine and beautiful, and those qualities didn’t war with each other. He would never have another chance like this one. “Yes,” Gadreel whispered.

Benny pushed him back on the bed gently, pulling his shirt far open, so that he could see him. “Let me kiss you again.”

Gadreel was looking at the bright light of the bulb on his bedroom ceiling, and Benny’s face eclipsed it just before their lips met again. This time, Benny tasted of whiskey and his mustache tickled his cheek as he opened his mouth against his. Gadreel gasped at the feeling of his partner’s tongue rolling against his own, and his hands trembled as Benny laid down on top of him, legs down between his thighs, forcing him to spread them.  

This seemed like much more than kissing, and he squirmed under him, gasping unevenly. Gadreel was half-sure that he could feel the warmth of Benny’s cock grinding against his own.

Benny moved his lips down to beneath his ear and tasted his neck, scraping under Gadreel’s jaw with tender sucking bites. None of it was hard enough to leave a mark until he nibbled and bit at his collarbone.

Gadreel shuddered and raised his head. “Benny…”

Benny huffed and stroked his neck with his hand. “When I saw you gettin’ head from Bela, you looked so fuckin’ pretty, it was all I could do to not beat off right there.”

Milton squirmed, aching in his confining trousers.

“You like a little pain, don’t you?” Benny lowered his head and lapped at his nipple.

“I… shit, yes.”

Benny bit him, gently taking the pink flesh between his teeth and squeezing until Gadreel let out a strangled gasp. When he let him go and lapped at it softly, Gadreel clutched at Benny’s shoulders, unable to stop his hips from rolling.

“I’m gonna suck you off, Milton. Or do you prefer I call you Lieutenant?”

“Oh, god,” Gadreel murmured.

Benny laughed gently and reached down to slide his fingers between them and settle his palm over his bulge. “Don’t worry none.” He moved to unzip him and open Gadreel’s slacks, pulling the belt aside and shoving down the elastic band of his underwear, so he could spring free.

Gadreel shut his eyes and breathed deep. He wanted this so badly—if he was sober he could at least judge what he was feeling, beyond the desperation and the fact that everything felt so fucking good that he could scream. “I want to…” He whimpered.

Lafitte held his cock gently and squeezed as he stroked down slow. “What you want, _cher_?”

“I want to suck you off,” he slurred. He knew he was echoing what his partner had just said but it was exactly what he really and truly wanted.

Benny groaned and pulled Gadreel’s pants down to his thighs, tangling with his spread knees. “Wait your turn, Lieutenant.” He returned both hands to stroking Gadreel’s cock, grasping softly at the base while he squeezed the tip and slid it through his cupped palm.

“Y-yes, sir.” He shivered and arched his back.

“Goddamn, you got no idea what you do to me.” He knelt down and licked along the underside, then nibbled, tasting and sucking at his flesh where Gadreel felt so perilously connected to his mindless lust.

The room was spinning just a little, and the last drink of whiskey he’d had was starting to scream in his brain that this was _exactly_ the kind of thing he’d had in mind when Benny announced that he was coming to visit.

His partner sucked him down deftly into his throat and bobbed—his groaning sent vibrations through him that nearly made Gadreel kick his legs.

Perhaps the only thing that stopped him from releasing as soon as Benny had him in his mouth was the finger that he felt sliding lower. He tried to relax, and think about how it felt when he did it to himself.

Benny slid off him and stroked him with his other hand quickly, rasping the tip of his cock on his beard. “Breathe, _chere_.”

He replied with drunken eloquence. “If you don’t get on with it, I’ll die.”

The detective laughed. “Are your neighbors going to hear you scream?”

He hadn’t even thought of that. Benny pushed his finger at his entrance and Gadreel squirmed, throwing his hand over his mouth to muffle the keening noise from deep in his throat. His finger felt broad and calloused—he never thought he could feel so much texture back there, and he bit his tongue to distract himself as Benny’s fingertip finally slipped inside.

For his part, Benny returned to slurping at the head of his cock, throwing in a nibble now and then that didn’t quite pinch hard enough to hurt. Gadreel was aware that he was panting through his nose. That sinful finger was working against the muscle, massaging and working at his rim in a way that Milton had never done to himself.

He should have tried this before, he realized. Benny’s mouth vanished as he spit lower, and Gadreel jumped.

Gadreel’s breath shuddered in his chest. “Lube… I have lube in the nightstand.”

“You’re a regular boy scout, Lieutenant.” Benny pulled away and it almost made Gadreel regret mentioning the lube.

“I… I was, yeah.” Gadreel had to laugh a little. Benny’s finger returned, slippery and breaching him quick, without effort. He gulped. “Oh, god.”

Benny pushed his finger in past a knuckle and pumped gently, sitting up to look down at him writhing on the bed. Gadreel peeked up at him and saw the older man biting his lip, looking down at where his finger disappeared with a blush on his cheeks.

He wanted to reach down and touch Benny’s chest, pull him closer between his legs—Gadreel wanted to be fucked, to take him deeper and wider than he could stand until he had to be gagged to muffle the screams.

Benny looked at his heavy-lidded face and added another finger, moaning as he clenched and relaxed with a whole-body tremble. Then he twisted both up and watched Gadreel’s cock jerk and blurt a clear bead of precome. “Hell, brother, I wonder if you can come from just this.”

He felt full to bursting in more than one sense. He nodded mutely and gave a little thrust of his hips, rubbing Benny’s fingers across that little place inside that made violent bliss thrum up his spine.

Benny bent down and kissed his thigh, mouth opened wide and teeth grinding on the muscle, pinning him place. Gadreel jerked and spurted across his belly, wordless scream trapped behind his palm.

Benny scraped his lips along the inside of his leg and sighed, murmuring something that Gadreel couldn’t quite hear over the pounding in his skull.

“What?” he slurred.

“Nothing, can you sit up?” Benny slid his fingers out of him and groaned as he undid his belt and opened his slacks. Gadreel was surprised that he hadn’t taken his swollen cock out earlier—he looked so hard that it must have hurt to keep penned up.

He sat up like a marionette, shirt falling down his shoulders, and reached for Benny’s hip to steady himself, finding his head cradled gently. He had kind of expected that he would have his face shoved into his partner’s crotch, but as Benny’s hand stroked, he wasn’t urged further. Gadreel leaned in to lick the tip with a wanton, open-mouthed groan.

The hand on the back of his head clutched at his short-cropped hair and Lafitte shuddered, moaning as Gadreel took him into his mouth deeper, and sucked on the tip gently, prodding the slit with his tongue. Benny let him move his head with his thrusts.

“F-coming.” He spurted hot into Gadreel’s mouth, slathering his tongue and hitting the back of his throat, so he had to gulp to keep from choking.

Gadreel coughed a little and pulled back before he wiped his mouth absently. He looked up at Lafitte, not sure if he should take a shower, or pass out. Benny carded his fingers slowly through his hair and sighed with a shudder.

The detective smiled softly. “C’mere.” he pulled out a blue handkerchief and knelt to wipe his torso.

Gadreel leaned back on the bed, watching his partner’s hand press over his stomach and chest. There was something about the kerchief, something elusive, but he wasn’t sure how he’d phrase the question. Benny leaned over and kissed him slowly and lazily, nuzzling his face against his chin and tickling his neck.

He felt his eyes wanting to slide closed. Gadreel wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, but the whiskey kept his worries at bay. “I usually sleep on the couch,” he said, blinking at the bright light above the bed. He’d meant to offer him the bed, but somehow he’d skipped a whole section of that conversation.

Benny pulled his shoes off and slid his pants down, lifting his desensitized limbs out of his clothing. “Just close your eyes and rest.”

“Are you staying?” He raised his head off the bed and met Benny’s eyes. Sometimes he looked so handsome that it hurt.

“I’ll stay a while.” Benny finished removing his shirt and put a pillow under Gadreel’s head. “Not the whole night.”

Gadreel wasn’t sure he understood why. “Oh.” He rolled a little on the bed as Benny crawled in beside him, throwing an arm over his middle and resting his head on the same pillow. Gadreel could feel his breath on his shoulder, and the buttons of his shirt against his arm, but he couldn’t open his eyes. Somehow, he was sure doing that might break the moment.  

\---

\---

In the morning, Lafitte was gone, and so were the pizza boxes—the one with actual pizza in it was tucked into the refrigerator. It was probably best that the files were kept elsewhere. He didn’t want to look at them before sleeping alone.

He showered and dressed just after dawn and took the bus down the hill. Milton wondered, briefly, if other people could tell that he’d changed. Perhaps it wasn’t as obvious to other people, but he felt different. For one thing, remembering what had happened the night before didn’t make his stomach drop or fill him with shame. Sitting at his desk all day and stealing glances at Benny was less torturous now that he could see his partner glancing up at him with a knowing smirk. **  
**


	9. March 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

The days settled into something of a routine. He and Benny would remain on their sides of the office, keeping their conversations as distant and benign as they could, and on Fridays Benny would end up over at his place with the pizza boxes. 

There had been a negotiation of semi-sobriety. 

“I don’t want to be fooling around with you when you can barely walk, Galahad.” Benny had stated plainly when he arrived one evening, and offered him a beer.

Gadreel had nodded and opened the can. “Okay.” He skipped the denial that had been on the tip of his tongue. It helped that it didn’t seem like Lafitte was judging him. 

“You mind me asking about it?” 

“About the drinking or the fooling around?” Gadreel went to sit in his living room. 

“About the reason for the drinking.” 

He settled into his chair and thought about what to say. “I sometimes…  tell myself it’s so I can sleep.” 

“But that ain’t it, is it?” The detective leaned on Gadreel’s bookcase, jostling the stacks of sci-fi pulp novels.

“I’ve always been attracted to other men. It… helped me to not think about how that was a problem.” He set the beer down and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, watching Benny’s eyes follow his fingers. 

“Does it help you relax?” 

He nodded and sighed a little. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin from just thinking about what I want.”

“Do I make you nervous?” Benny tilted his head, considering his partner carefully.

He gulped. “Yeah, a little.” 

“Think I might want to fuck you tonight. That somethin’ you want?” 

Gadreel bit his lip. “Yes.” A blush was already rising in his face and chest. 

“Good. Why don’t you get outta them clothes, for starters.” He adjusted himself in his pants while watching Gadreel’s reaction. 

The taller detective stood up and started to strip. “We also need to talk about the case.” 

Benny chuckled, drinking in the sight of him greedily. “Why? No new leads have popped up.”

“What about Henry’s drawing? Did anybody have a name to check out?” He stepped out of his shoes and dropped his pants. Talking about the case actually helped Milton to not feel anxious about being nude in front of his partner.

“Nope. Came up empty at Club Saisset and the Twin Peaks bar. They’re the only ones I knew weren’t going to be raided.” 

Gadreel had been turning over an idea in his head, but knew it wouldn’t be approved officially. “How about a sting operation?” He pushed his underwear down his hips and past his knees. 

“It’ll never be green lit—Vice is the one with the sting operations, and they’re just out to bust the rentboys.” He took a step closer, fully clothed, and put his warm palm on Gadreel’s stomach. 

He looked down at Benny’s face and bit his lip. “So we do it off the books, on weekends.” 

“I can’t go.” His partner looked reluctant but resolute. “My time in vice, I busted a lot of clubs in raids, and… well, after that business with Lily’s friend Julian, I’m pretty sure I ain’t suited for now.” 

“You could always shave, try to dress a little different.” 

“I don’t know how you did things in Montana, but we don’t wear disguises.” 

“Then why the hat?” Gadreel smirked and looked nervously down at Benny’s hand on his stomach. 

“Very funny.” He quirked an eyebrow and he slipped his thumb against Gadreel’s navel. 

He sighed softly and shook his head. “I like the hat, actually.” 

“Let me talk to Victor about the investigation, see if on-the-books is even an option.” He put his hand on the side of Gadreel’s face and traced his fingers along his sharp jawline. “You’d prefer it that way, wouldn’t you?” 

Gadreel nodded, eyes closing. He took a deep breath. 

“I know you don’t like to sneak around and hide.” 

“It’s necessary,” he said reluctantly and sank to his knees. 

Benny passed his fingers through Gadreel’s short hair and cupped his chin with his other hand. The gentle pressure against Gadreel’s jaw made him tilt his face up, and a thumb pressed against his mouth until he opened it and let it slide past his lips. 

He sucked gently on the pad of his thumb, listening to the hitch of Benny’s breathing and the groan that rumbled deep in his chest. 

“Do you want to talk more about the case?” Benny looked down at him with a smirk. 

Gadreel shook his head slightly, keeping the thumb in his mouth. 

“Go to the bedroom, Milton, and get on your hands and knees on the bed.” He pulled away and started taking his jacket off. 

The taller man stood and turned to walk to the bedroom, feeling Benny’s eyes on his body. Goosebumps raised on his skin as he crawled onto the bed and stayed there, facing the bars of the headboard, listening to Benny strip off his clothing. 

He stole a glance over his shoulder and saw a tattoo across Benny’s bicep of the USMC badge and gulped. Gadreel had had this man’s fingers inside him, he’d sucked his cock, but he’d never seen Benny’s tattoo. It made him wonder what else he didn’t know about his partner. 

Benny laughed. “You need to relax. Your back is so straight you look like a table.”

Gadreel nodded and started to try to let some of the tension out of his spine. He didn’t know what it would feel like to be fucked if he couldn’t relax enough to let Benny in, but he imagined it wouldn’t be good. 

Lafitte kicked off his shoes and crawled naked onto the bed behind him, running his fingers up his sides, catching his ribs, then dragging his nails back down until they caught against his hips and pulled him tight against him. “You hitting the gyms around here?” 

“I just… I jog sometimes. Push ups and sit-ups every morning.” 

“Good. Wanna mark you up where nobody’s gonna see.” He licked his shoulder before biting down hard. 

Gadreel huffed and whined, suppressing the urge to fight, to throw an elbow back at Benny. He didn’t need to think about how that stabbing lance of pain made his cock jump. Didn’t need to think about how fucked up it was that being hurt got him hard—it was too strange and depraved. Benny was hard and sliding his dick back and forth along his thigh, so it was clear he liked it, too. 

He wasn’t sure how to tell his partner that he deeply needed this, even though every instinct was trying to fight it. “Benny, I… please, I need you to-”

Benny licked up his spine and groaned at his ear. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Don’t let me fight back.” He shuddered slightly at the scruff of Benny’s beard along the crest of his shoulder. 

Benny made a soft, thoughtful sound and pulled away, leaving Gadreel cold in his wake. There was a metallic rattle and then Benny dangled his handcuffs in front of his face. “How about these?” He said, voice low and rough.

Milton didn’t trust his own voice. He nodded, lowering his head between his shoulders and putting his hands up to the head of the bed. 

Benny put them on him quickly, leading them through the metal rungs with a sharp, efficient clang. 

The keys were placed on the bedside table, and Benny opened the drawer to pull out the tube of lubricant as though he lived there. 

Gadreel kinda wished he  _ did _ live there. That way he could at least suffer under the illusion that he knew the man better. He’d never even been to Lafitte’s apartment.

He didn’t need to know him. He needed to trust him, and that was all.

Benny knelt behind him and touched his thighs, gently urging him to push his knees wider, then cupped his balls gently as soon as Gadreel complied. He spent a few moments massaging them with his broad palm before he popped open the tube of lube and squirted some onto his fingers. 

Gadreel had never been so interested in the pattern of his paisley sheets. He stared down at them, supporting himself with his elbows, trying not to think of what he must look like, ass up and knees wide. 

Benny’s fingers felt slick and seemed wider than he’d thought they were, as one pressed inside. It didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t help but grunt as Benny pressed up to his second knuckle. He closed his eyes as his partner slid his finger in and out of him, quickly spreading the lube around before stretching him on a second. 

Benny stilled, two fingers in him. “Move your hips, Galahad.” 

He took a ragged breath and moved a little, nervously feeling the pads of Benny’s fingers drag over the rim. 

Benny growled in response. “Fuck yourself.” 

Something shorted out in his brain as he pressed back, mentally fighting the feeling of dreadful vulnerability. He dropped his forehead to his sheets and moaned. 

He could hear the praise in Benny’s voice. “Good boy.” 

A whine escaped him. He arched his spine and rocked back, taking Benny’s fingers deeply and groaning at the burn and stretch. Gadreel felt his partner move behind him—he pulled his fingers out, slipping free and leaving him gaping.

The tube of lube popped open with a snap and a little more was smeared coldly across his sensitive entrance. 

“Stop squirming and hold still a minute.” Benny slid his cock along his cleft.

Gadreel froze, the blunt head of Benny’s dick slipped against his rim, catching briefly. “Yes, sir,” he said, voice surprisingly steady.

Benny groaned. “Love it when you call me ‘Sir’.” He wiped his hand on the sheets and steered the blunt head of his cock into Gadreel, pushing at the tight ring of muscle until he gave way. 

“Ah, oh.” He was muffled against the mattress, but Benny stilled anyhow, touching his hips tenderly. 

“You okay?” 

He wondered, in a brief moment of clarity, if Benny could feel him trembling around his cock. “Y-yes.” 

Benny’s hands on his sides were light, strangely tentative considering that he was already inside him. “Come back on it.” 

Gadreel wasn’t sure that moving was a great idea, and he was sure that his brow was wrinkled in concentration. He managed to squeak out “Yes, sir,” as he pressed his hips back slowly, gasping at the ragged and raw feeling of sinking down on Benny’s cock. 

His partner pet him gently and moaned. “Feels so tight.” 

He rocked a little, impossibly full, muscles in his thighs shuddering as they complied. The sounds falling out of his mouth were foreign, desperate and needy. Gadreel felt hot, a blush blooming under his skin. “How… how much is left, sir?” 

Benny chuckled gently, hands suddenly possessive on his hips, stilling him. “You’re halfway there.” 

“Oh, god.” Gadreel trembled. 

Benny’s knees moved up inside his own and those rough, broad hands held him still. “Take a breath. You want the rest?” 

“Can… can it even fit?” His voice sounded strained and odd. 

Benny held him still and withdrew slowly, dragging deliciously along his rim. He pushed back in just as slow, fingers clutching at him. “Relax.” 

Gadreel gathered some courage. “Keep going, sir.” 

Benny pulled back and thrust in again with a grunt.

Gadreel gasped, chest falling flat on the mattress. “Oh, fuck.” He cursed. Benny’s cock was pressing against his prostate just perfectly, and maybe his vision was graying at the edges a little, but it was blissful.

“That’s it—good.” Benny’s accent was more apparent now. 

The wordless groan rising out of him was all he could muster in reply. The burn of Benny inside him, the feeling of being pinned in place while the man behind him gave him all that he could take—it bordered on overwhelming. He stayed as still as he could while Benny pumped his hips, filling him and withdrawing before pushing further. After what seemed like ages, Gadreel felt Benny’s hands roam up his back to grasp his shoulders and dig in. 

It was clear who was in charge. When Benny slowly pressed his hips forward, all he could do was cry out into the sheets and clutch the bedframe with his cuffed hands. 

Benny settled and breathed warm air against his back. “There, you’ve got it all now.” 

He panted and raised his head a little to speak without being muffled. “It hurts.”

“It’ll get better, darlin’. Give it a minute.” Benny stroked his back soothingly. 

He didn’t really mind the gentle touches—but he couldn’t remember the last person who had touched him like this, and that in itself was unsettling and strange. Gadreel definitely preferred being manhandled. “I’m good, sir.”

“Yeah, you are.” Benny chuckled. He moved his hips and pumped in a slow rhythm, wrenching a groan out of the taller man bent beneath him. 

He pushed back into the cradle of his hips and nearly pleaded with Benny to thrust harder, to use him in any way he could. 

Benny’s hand crept around his side and glided down his stomach before he took the hard, dripping length in hand and squeezed. 

“Nngh—ah, please. Sir. You first.” Gadreel shivered, trying to force back the clench and build of heavy heat that was burning down his spine. 

Benny stroked him lightly, his touch now faint and teasing. “You think you’re close?” 

Gadreel nodded and Benny let him go suddenly—his cock bounced up and tapped against his belly. He gasped and bit his lip. Benny started to pull him up, spooning him flush against his chest. 

The cuffs slid up the headboard between his wrists, jangling like a steel bell against the metal. Benny kept a hand on his hip, ensuring he stayed deep in him while he scooted up until Gadreel’s knees touched the bars. 

Sitting in Benny’s lap, he could feel the heat of his partner’s breath on the nape of his neck, right next to the scrape of his beard.  He felt deeper inside him, now, with all of Gadreel’s weight forcing him down on his throbbing cock. 

Benny shifted a little under him and wrapped his arms around his middle, holding him tight as he ground his hips up into the taller man. 

Milton gasped roughly at the pressing hardness inside of him and dropped his head back on Benny’s shoulder. 

“Fuck, sergeant. That’s jus’ right.” He flexed his thighs and bounced him on his lap, grunting with the effort of the quickening pace he set. 

Gadreel clenched his hands on the bars and whimpered through gritted teeth. He tried to relax, keep himself from coming. Listening to Benny’s breathing was oddly centering—if he could just devote himself to what his partner needed, let himself get carried away on that inevitable tide—it would be more than enough for him.  

He turned his head on Benny’s shoulder and kissed his ear, breath stuttering, whimpering when Lafitte’s fingers found his left nipple and pinched. The clanging of the cuffs on the bar was reminiscent of a trolley bell and also made him think of Pavlov’s dogs—the sound would hold a whole new meaning for Gadreel now, branding itself across his brain. 

Benny’s thrusts grew in power until he was snapping his hips home, uncompromising and seemingly relishing in the bitten-off yelps from his taller partner. Gadreel ached, his cock felt heavy and painful, and he couldn’t even grip himself to keep the bounce and sway of Benny’s thrusts from flicking his member against his stomach. 

“Are you ready?” Benny’s voice was gravel, it curled down Gadreel’s spine and made him clench. 

“Yes, god, please.”

Benny turned his head and bit down at the juncture of shoulder and neck, deep into his trapezius, and wrapped his hand around Gadreel’s cock as he pumped, unyielding, into his quivering body. 

The yell that erupted out of Gadreel echoed, disembodied in the tiny bedroom. He spurted over Benny’s knuckles and felt his partner freeze up and pulse inside him. 

“Oh, god. Oh, god.” He didn’t want to move or open his eyes. He could feel an ache in his chest, as though he might break open and weep. 

Benny stroked him gingerly through his fist, and seemed to savor the skin between his teeth.  He sucked a hickey there before kissing the sore spot tenderly. “Y’doing all right there?” He drawled. 

“Thank you,” Gadreel’s voice was almost a whisper, squeaking out of him and strangled by tears. “God, thank you.” 

“Shhh.” Benny moved a little, reaching for the key to the cuffs. 

Gadreel was motionless, staring at the wall—the shift inside him wasn’t so bad, and he still felt full, but he was biting his lip at the thought of cleaning up. “I… I really feel like I want a drink now.” 

Benny huffed and kissed the bite mark on his shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” 

He shook his head fast and clenched his eyes shut. Benny was still inside him. “What do we do now?” He wished his voice didn’t sound so wrecked. 

Benny wrapped his arms around his middle and reached to unlock him from the cuffs. Gadreel let his free hand drop to his thigh and looked at the redness around his wrist. It would fade, hopefully. He was already planning which shirts he had that could cover the mark. 

The other hand dropped free and Benny pulled out of him gingerly. Gadreel gasped, the soreness in his ass suddenly more pronounced as he involuntarily clenched.

He wondered if he’d ever be the same. Gadreel took a few deep breaths and bowed his head, pressing his palms against his eyes. 

His partner left the bedroom and started the shower, shuffling around in the bathroom until he found the towels in a cabinet above the toilet. Of course, Benny wanted to clean up. Gadreel scooted off the bed and stood shakily by the mattress, surveying his sheets. He started to strip them off the bed, biting his lip at the thought of bringing them to the laundromat. 

Benny came back into the bedroom, still nude, followed by steam that crawled along the ceiling. He looked at Gadreel’s face until the taller man had to meet his eyes. 

“C’mon.” Benny touched his shoulder gently. “Shower’s hot.” 

“Oh.” He glanced at the bare mattress. “Are you going to stay after?” 

Benny cupped his cheek. Gadreel had to shut his eyes, frightened of what he might show him in his expression. His partner stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Yeah. I’ll stay.” 


	10. August 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Hansen, the Philippines.

One of the benefits of Lt. Milton’s MP duty was that he was constantly on the move—he got to see a lot more of the world than most men on their tour. He supposed someone prone to homesickness would have a problem with not seeing familiar shores.

Leave in the Philippines was hot, but just fine by him. His paperwork was filed, his uniform was being cleaned and pressed, the bars were cheap and air-conditioned. The locals were extremely friendly to soldiers, even if he was sure that was because their entire local economy was built around the naval base.

He knew his family would say that it was vain to be concerned about his tan, but mainly it was just nice to lounge all day, listening to the surf breaking on the sand. The weather was impeccable, the food was strange, and the mai tais had little umbrellas. Gadreel was alone, but at least it was beautiful. It strangely reminded him of being in school, and how, as a very young child, he had believed himself to be from another planet—to this day he wasn’t sure how that idea had seeded itself, other than the pervasive feeling that he was different.

Three days went too quickly, even with the isolated feeling that came with hardly speaking to anyone who understood much English. On his last day of leave, before he was scheduled to be sent to Okinawa, he had a message waiting for him at base. His C.O. had requested every report on Lt. Tran be re-sent stateside for review.

It took him a few days while he was adjusting to his new assignment to work out the right number to call about an inquiry. There was a hiss on the line as he was connected across the Pacific.  A few clicks later and it began ringing.

The call was picked up on the fourth ring. “Novak here.”

“This is First Lieutenant Gadreel Milton. I saw that there was a request for my reports on Kevin Tran.”

“Uh, yes. We did request copies for the case. You may be subpoenaed as a witness, if we find anything relevant.” His voice was rough, but clear. The man on the other end of the line just spoke in a low register. It was subtly intimidating.

“Pardon my asking, but what case? I thought the matter was resolved.” He had been re-reading the report and it was dry and useless against Tran, as far as he could see. Besides the careless handling of his sidearm, he should have been returned to active duty.

“Lieutenant Tran was murdered at Camp Evans. We are charging several men in his unit.”

Gadreel had to sit down. “How?”

“The autopsy found a broken bone in his skull. He was also doused with gasoline and lit on fire.” He sounded utterly calm, and his clinical detachment somehow infused the situation with a touch of the surreal.

He took a shaky breath. “Jesus Christ. When? I was there a month ago.”

“You were there six weeks ago, and he was killed four days after returning to his unit.”

Gadreel was sitting in an office belonging to the captain of the Camp Hansen on-base police force, fist clenched around the phone. “Do you know who did it?”

“It is the government’s position that two men in his unit were directly involved. Four more that tried to hinder the investigation. They’re trying to put it forward as a hazing gone wrong.”

“Who’s the prosecuting counselor?”

Novak huffed. “I am.”

“It wasn’t a hazing, sir. I’m very sure.”

“All right. Tell me what you didn’t put in your report, Lieutenant Milton.”

“Two men in his unit, Munroe and Trenton, believed that Tran was a homosexual.”

“Is there a reason that wasn’t recorded?”

“Neither of them had a shred of proof—there had been no misconduct.”

“Did Tran deny it?”

“Vehemently, sir. He wanted to continue to serve.”

“I don’t get that very often.” Novak sighed. He sounded a little disillusioned. It wasn’t something that Gadreel was used to hearing from senior officers.

“I feel it’s worth mentioning that Tran wanted me to have him transferred, but that wasn’t within my power.”

“Did he say why?” There was the rustling sound of paper on the other end of the line. It was 8 a.m. in Manilla, so Novak was near the end of normal office hours.

“No, sir. But I think that someone tried to murder him with his own gun.”

There was a creak, and he could imagine the faceless, gravel-voiced man leaning back in his chair. “It’s unsubstantiated.”

“Yes. Tran took the misconduct charge.” Gadreel sighed. “There was no way to force him to testify.”

“Milton, can you write a report—everything you didn’t include in Tran’s report—and have it wired here?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get it to you by tomorrow.”

\---

Gadreel spent the rest of his day typing and retyping a report that sounded paranoid and full of conjectures, before editing it down to the crucial matter of the bullet’s angle that broke Tran’s jaw. The mention of allegations against Tran for homosexuality was merely a footnote, entered as hearsay on an unofficial document that would never see the light of day.  

He didn’t bother with the why of it, which felt dishonest and incomplete. The comments about the flirtations that Tran allegedly engaged in were easy enough to recall and transcribe, although he felt the skin on his hands prickling with revulsion as he typed them out. Gadreel wasn’t sure why he was so unsettled—his own gross incompetence was obvious to him, although he couldn’t have known that things would go so badly for Tran after he was through with his case. Part of him almost agreed that if the alleged flirting actually occurred, that Tran deserved what happened to him. After all, Gadreel had grown up in a town where that sort of thing was often handled in remote fields with a few well-placed blows. But that wasn’t the law. Or justice. He was almost completely certain that the gun had been in someone else’s hand when it was fired. And that Tran had been on his knees, accounting for the high angle.

He should have given him a section 8, but he was too sympathetic to the kid’s plight. It was entirely his fault.

His own part in it would have to be measured, and he prayed that whatever judgement awaited Lt. Tran in the afterlife would be merciful. He didn’t bother praying for forgiveness on his own behalf, it seemed far too selfish. Gadreel Milton wasn’t queer. He just didn’t know what exactly _was_ the matter with him. All he knew for certain was that Tran hadn’t deserved to be lit on fire.

After he handed the report over for wire transfer, he went to his bunk immediately and downed his daily fifth of scotch. It wasn’t enough, so he tossed and turned for a seeming eternity before sleep found him. **  
**


	11. March 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

The phone was ringing on Gadreel’s desk when he came into the office on Monday morning. He snapped it up and looked at the empty chair behind Benny’s desk, wondering how long someone had been calling his office. There was a stack of memos detailing a few missed calls, and the one on top was from 6:40 a.m. that day. It was now 7:30.

“Hello, this is Detective Milton.”

“Gadreel, get in my office now.” Zachariah sounded angry. He wasn’t sure what he could have done wrong.

“Yes, sir.” He dropped the phone back in the cradle.

The office wasn’t far away in the building and he knew better than to delay, but he still poured himself a cup of coffee, hoping that Benny would come in the door before he ran out of time. There was a distinct possibility in Gadreel's mind that his uncle had somehow found out about what had happened at his place with Benny.

Gadreel sighed and walked down the hall to Zachariah’s office, knocking before opening. His office faced the east, and the sun lit the man’s white hair with blinding light. It was probably intentional. Benny was in a chair to the left, so Gadreel took the one on the right, holding his cup of coffee in both hands.

“Yes, by all means, _do_ sit down.” Zach had a closed file in front of him, right on top of a folded newspaper.

Benny, next to him, arms folded over his stomach, seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on the paper in front of their Captain.  

“Sir, what is this about?”

“This is about your goddamn partner trying to create a case out of thin air.”

“Oh,” he replied hesitantly.

“Oh? Is that all you’ve got to say? We’re still catching shit from the goddamn Zodiac; we’re not out there looking for more.” He tapped the closed file. Walter Dixon’s name was on the edge; Benny’s drag queen friend, Lily LaRue. “You need to close your cases—do you know we’re last in the nation for solve rate? And all because of these goddamn gays getting themselves stabbed.”

Gadreel cleared his throat.  “We have a description of a suspect in Dixon’s case. We’ll close it.” It was clear that Benny wasn’t about to speak on his own behalf at this point.

“And now I hear that you’ve been requesting a sting to do that? A sting in a homicide case? Are you joking?”

“We were thinking that since the sketch of our person of interest didn’t produce any leads, we might need to pursue other avenues, sir.”

Zach banged on his desk. “Now, I figured you would be the last one I’d need to lecture about how to close a damn case, but you need to get Dixon’s known associates and haul them in. Question them until someone confesses. One of these faggots is guilty as sin.”

Gadreel was holding his coffee very tightly. “I understand, sir.”

Lafitte spoke up. “Captain, none of his associates had a record of violent cr—”

“Not that shit again! You’re both off the case. Lafitte, be grateful I haven’t handed you a suspension today. Now, get out of my office.” Zachariah was livid. He had clearly already spoken with Lafitte about the case.

Benny left ahead of him, leaving the door open. Gadreel was almost too stunned to follow in his wake. He stood up and looked down at his uncle. Zachariah’s expression was now one of calm indifference, his hand splayed over the file.

Gadreel left the office and went back to his desk. The window was open and Benny was gone again.  The pink notes on his desk had been blown about, and while re-ordering them was not difficult, it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t necessary. They were all from the same name and number.

Novak.

Gadreel sank down into his chair. It had been at least four years. His hand hovered over the polished black handset for a few moments before he withdrew. It could wait.

Gadreel crawled out the window onto the fire escape instead. It creaked a little and he was grateful for his coat.

The rooftop was covered in black tarpaper and gravel, the behemoth air conditioner almost hid the silhouette of his partner.

Benny must have heard his footsteps, but he didn’t look around. Benny just puffed his cigar and looked north at the peaks of the orange span of the Golden Gate bridge. It wasn’t at all quiet as Gadreel had thought it would be—the noise from the street was a droning thrum and an occasional motorist’s honk overlaid the seagulls. So much for a quiet place to get away from it all.

He walked closer, to where he could look down; fragile steps from the edge of the building. An ashtray balanced there, rattling precariously on a gutter.

After feeling his partner’s eyes slide over the side of his face, Gadreel broke the silence. “Heights don’t bother you?”

“They never have.” He saw Benny crack a smile at that.

Gadreel sighed. “I’m sorry about the case.”

Lafitte puffed and a cloud of smoke whipped away from his head almost as fast as he breathed it out. Eventually, he looked over at his partner. “Are you scared of heights?”

Gadreel sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not convinced it’s the height that frightens me. I can tell you that the most unnerving part of it is how simple it would be for me to just… step into nothing.”

There was a long pause before Benny leaned down to sit, and when he spoke, he was barely audible over the noise from the road. “It’s funny, the thing that scared me more than I thought it would. The deep ocean. Not the bits where you can swim to the bottom. Nope. The cold, dark water. The unknown.”

“You were a Marine.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. You want to know how they got me?”

“Sure.”

“It was ‘67. I was two weeks from my birthday and four days from graduation. As soon as my number came up I knew that was it.”

“So, you volunteered.” Gadreel sighed despondently.

“You bet. And the Marines… well, they weren’t the ones visiting the high school parking lot to remind kids of their draft notices.”

“Army.”

“Yeah. But it’s not long into basic that you believe with all your heart that your recruiter is the devil, no matter what division you are. They build you into what they need.”

Gadreel waited for his partner to continue, but he didn’t speak. A few gulls circled overhead. He slouched, resigned. “I still think we should look for the Doodler. Nobody else gives a damn.”

It was the first time Gadreel had voiced the sensationalized name given to their killer by the media when they first linked the killings together. The San Francisco Sentinel had broken the story just about a year before, and nothing had come of it.

Benny stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and slowly got to his feet. “Yep. Justice is as Justice does.”

\---

Gadreel put the phone call off, tucking Novak’s phone number into his pocket. He had a bad feeling about it. Every day he was in the office, there was another phone memo. Gadreel knew that the case was over as far as he was concerned and nothing good could come of talking about what had happened.

In his apartment Friday afternoon, Benny finally said something about the collection of pink, folded notes on the kitchen counter.

“Is it an ex-boyfriend?” The cajun gestured to the memos.

Gadreel had a new striped polyester shirt on, and he was trimming off the tag after putting it on. “What? No. You know better.”

“This prefix is the Pentagon.” Benny raised his eyebrow. “How come you’re dodging his calls? When it comes to hard work, you’re no slouch.”

He tucked his shirt into his trousers and nodded, wishing he didn’t blush at such a nice compliment. “I have to call him back eventually. It’s about an old case.”

“An open case?”

“Closed.”

“You want me to call him back, tell him to go fuck himself?” Benny leaned on his kitchen counter and sipped a beer.

“No. I’ll call him back on Monday.”

Benny seemed to weigh his words, but shrugged instead of pressing for more information. He pulled out his kerchief. “Here, you’ll need this.”

“…Please tell me you’ve washed that since the last time I saw it.”

Lafitte laughed at that. “Yeah, it’s pressed and starched. It’s a code.”

“A code?”

“Yeah. Goes in your right back pocket.” He reached around him and stuffed the neatly folded blue square into the back of Gadreel’s polyester slacks.

“But it’s always in your left pocket.” Detective Milton frowned.

Benny squeezed his ass, pulling him close. Gadreel gulped—his pants weren’t going to help hide much. Lafitte drawled, mouth under his ear, lips scraping at his jaw. “Kind of things I like to do… means I’m the kind of man who wears his hanky in the left pocket. Kind of things you like? You wear it in the right.”

“So you’re telling me that… right pocket means… subordinate.” Gadreel raised his eyebrows.   

Broad, calloused hands slid up his sides. “It means bottom.”

Gadreel swallowed dryly. “So if I wear this… everyone will know that I’m…”

“Not everyone. Just those in the know.” Benny unbuttoned the top button of Gadreel’s shirt. It was Saturday afternoon and his apartment was dark on the east side of the hill.

Gadreel sighed. It felt unnatural to go out without a tie, and with his gun in a concealed ankle holster rather than on his hip, he felt unbalanced. Benny kissed him on the chin and held him by the shoulders. Gadreel met his eyes reluctantly. “I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb. I’m not pretty, and I’m not young anymore…”

“I want to find the person who told you that you were ugly and punch them in the mouth.” Benny smirked.

Milton smiled nervously. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”  

“Just remember to be polite. And don’t say yeah to going places alone with anybody. Not even the park. I’ll wait here and you call me from a pay phone if you get a hit.” Benny stroked his arms through his sleeves, and squeezed Gadreel’s biceps.

He nodded, wondering if Benny knew how similar he sounded to Gadreel’s own father on the night Anna went to her Homecoming dance. “I’ll be home by midnight, Dad.” Gadreel smirked.

Benny cupped his chin and pressed his thumb to his lip. “Dad? No, thank you. Sir is just fine.”  

\---

The third bar he arrived at had an interesting mix, so Gadreel lingered, ordered a beer, and mostly just let it warm in front of him. Being bait was a weird experience—he was supposed to be one of them, or at least act like it.

It was odd that he felt almost as though he fit in. The music wasn’t terrible either, although a little more disco than his usual taste. His attempts to talk to the other gentlemen in the club were mostly failures, but he was sticking to men who fit the profile, or might, if they had long hair. It wasn’t hard to think that the man he was after would cut his hair after he’d done something he’d felt guilty about. If he even felt guilty-- in Gadreel’s limited experience with murderers, most felt at least a little remorse.

As he sat by himself, he thought a bit about who the Doodler might be. Misanthropic, sure, and likely subject to wild mood swings. Gadreel stared at his beer, wondering just how much the man would remind him of himself. He clearly despised those that he wanted, much in the way that Gadreel was uncomfortable seeing effeminate men. It wasn’t that he was afraid of them—more that he was envious. He wasn’t sure if he wanted them or wanted to be one of them. And a similar jealousy might be at the root of the killer’s persona. Well, that and the dread of being exposed as gay.

Gadreel’s eyes jumped to the door of the bar whenever it opened—he had picked a place where he could be the first to see someone enter—and in the odd chance that someone from the SFPD came through that door, he could make an unobtrusive exit out the rear of the building.  

He eventually gave up on the bar and left a tip, fumbled his way onto the street, and started wandering the Castro. Being on the street and pretending to be out of the closet was an odd experience. He no longer had to refrain from making eye contact or worry about what people would think if he looked at another man.

Maybe it was time to go home. Benny would be there, in his apartment—he wasn’t sure why that made him smile, and why thinking of his partner picking up one of his Heinlein novels was absurdly amusing.

He hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take him a few doors down from his apartment. He might be able to walk the Castro openly, but he’d be damned if he let it follow him to his doorstep.

\---

Benny was sitting on his sofa, in the dark. Gadreel could just make out his silhouette slumped to the side when he came in and gently closed the door. He removed his shoes in silence and crept over to him, finding the light from the street just barely enough to see by. Benny had an empty glass in his hand, resting on his thigh, and was softly snoring.

Gadreel sat down next to him and gently removed the tumbler, sniffing it. Faint odor of whiskey. Not that he was surprised. Gadreel set it on the side table and put his hand back on top of Benny’s, curled his fingers around his palm, and closed his eyes as well.

That was the funny thing about sleep. He could sometimes fall asleep as soon as someone turned the lights out, if he wasn’t startled out of it. His insomnia only seemed to visit him on lonely, sober nights.  

Benny stirred and his hand twitched. Gadreel might have jerked a little, but suddenly he was wide awake and Benny had his hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Hey,” Lafitte said, and cleared his throat.

“Hey, Benny.”

“You’re back. How’d it go?” He stroked his arm gently.

“I didn’t see him.” Gadreel sighed and leaned against Benny’s shoulder.

Benny reached over and undid the buttons on his shirt as he nuzzled his hair. “Did you get hit on?”

“No, I didn’t really talk to anyone. Had a few beers.”

“I hate to say it, but good.”

“Are you jealous?” Gadreel turned to put his forehead against Benny’s neck and closed his eyes.

“No.” He pulled the new shirt open and skated his fingertips down Gadreel’s side, brushed his lips against his jaw and pushed him back to lay down on the sofa. Benny didn’t believe in wasting time—he reached down to Gadreel’s belt buckle and yanked it open.

Gadreel gulped as Benny palmed and stroked him to hardness. He started to scoot his pants down and jumped when Benny pinched at the head of his dick. “Ah, um. That’s… should we go to the bedroom?”

Benny chuckled low. “Not unless you want to get fucked. Is that what you want?”

Gadreel blushed. “Why do you always make me tell you what I want?”

He kissed and nibbled at Gadreel’s collarbone. “Because I want you to admit it.”

“Why?”

“Maybe so you’ll just ask me sometime.” He drawled and rolled off of him, and stood up by the couch, looking down at Gadreel where he laid sprawled, legs spread as far as his slacks would allow.

Gadreel  cupped himself and closed his eyes. “Okay… I want to ask you something. It might be a little weird.”

“Go right ahead.” Benny palmed himself, fingers outlining the way his dick curved to the left, pinned by his trousers.

“I want you to… make me deepthroat it.”

Benny hissed through clenched teeth and groaned. “Where did an innocent kid like you learn about something like that.”

Gadreel sat up and reached for Benny’s belt. Benny interrupted him and grabbed his hand, then wordlessly tugged him up and towards the bedroom.

Gadreel held his pants up and stumbled along after him, letting his waistband drop when Benny stopped to strip. The cajun was clinical and quick, but it was still something to behold, the way his shoulders flexed as he practically whipped his shirt down his arms and lifted his undershirt over his head. Gadreel shed his clothes just as quickly, then got down on his knees.

“Ah, no cheré. Get up on the bed and lay down on your back, an’ your head off the edge.” Benny gripped his short hair and tugged him up before turning him back to the mattress.

Gadreel felt his skin flush as he figured out the reason for the odd position. He rolled onto his back on the bed and scooted until his head dropped over the side.

Benny’s hand stroked his own member as he surveyed Gadreel’s body. “Spread your legs and put your hands behind your back.

“Yes, sir.” Gadreel wondered if he was leaking yet. His mouth was certainly watering.

“You said you wanted me to make you deepthroat it. You sure you know what that means?”

Gadreel closed his eyes bashfully. “Yeah, I know.” The view of Benny, upside down, gripping his cock and stroking it close to Gadreel’s face was luridly embedding itself in his brain.

“Alright, open up. I’m gonna start slow.”

He opened his mouth wide and let his head hang down, taking a deep breath. Benny’s broad, rough hands cradled his neck gently, thumbs on either side of his adam’s apple. He held him tight, and slowly, almost delicately, steered himself into Gadreel’s mouth.

Gadreel sucked and lapped, pushing at Benny’s slit with his tongue. The man suddenly pulled back.

Gadreel licked his lips. “Sir?”

“You take exactly what I give you, you understand?”

The shift in tone was startling, yet exciting. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Open wide.” Benny held his neck as he pushed across his tongue and into his throat.

The immediate instinct to fight, to convulse and thrash when his air was cut off was something that he had expected. He clenched his fists behind his back and shut his eyes as Benny eased himself in.

“You’re shaking.” He pulled out, sliding across his tongue. “If this goes too far, you tap my leg, alright?”  

Gadreel nodded, squeezing his eyes shut, mouth still hanging open.

Benny slid into his throat with a shallow grunt, and held Gadreel’s head as he swallowed around him, legs twitching now and then.

Gadreel was too flustered to count how many seconds he was without air. His chest was spasming, fighting to take a breath.

His partner fucked his throat slow, taking his time on each thrust to let Gadreel gasp before he filled him up again, his rhythm lazy and languid.

He struggled to swallow his saliva, it was slipping out of the corners of his mouth and dripping up his cheeks.

Benny sunk in and held his head there with one hand, running the other down his chest to pinch his nipple. Gadreel thrashed, and a gurgle escaped him, and Benny started to fuck his throat in earnest.

Gadreel had to fight for air, and his fists were clenched obediently behind his back. His arousal was painful, but almost vanished from his consciousness. His eyes were shut tight, mouth slack and open.

He stole air when he could, mind narrowing to a simple, primitive state. Time was difficult to measure, a simple abstract that kept him wondering how long he could go without oxygen.

Everything burned. He heard his throat whistle when Benny pulled back, and then his partner was cradling his head, lifting him into a sloppy, slack-mouthed sideways kiss, wiping his cheeks dry.

He reached down Gadreel’s front and gripped his erection while he kissed him deeply. Gadreel could only gasp and shudder.

“You good?” Benny asked, fingers dipping lower to cup his balls.

Gadreel opened his eyes to tiny slits and nodded.

“I wanna fuck you. Lube in the drawer?”

He nodded in reply and let Benny scoot him all the way onto the bed.

Benny circled the bed casually, surveying his long body as though he were merely part of the landscape, running his hand down Gadreel’s side before coming to rest on his hip.

Gadreel was still, his breathing labored and loud in his tiny bedroom. Benny looked flushed and his eyes were dark—the blueness of his iris the smallest sliver around blown pupils.

When Benny pressed against his entrance it brought him out of his reverie a little, making him concentrate on relaxing. A finger was inside him, cold, covered in lubricant and sliding, stretching his rim. Gadreel wasn’t sure why he was so aware of what was happening back there when he had been floating just a moment before. Probably the oxygen deprivation.

Benny pressed forward slowly, hissing softly when the head breached his entrance. Benny looked down to where he was pushing in, and held his thighs up, biting back a groan at the shifting angle.

His hands were still crossed behind his back, and when Benny rocked forward fully, Gadreel’s weight rested on his shoulders. He shut his eyes and shivered, feeling himself leak when Benny found the little bundle of nerves and ground his hips in small circles.

“Benny, don’t, I’m gonna come.” He gasped raggedly, astonished by the jagged sound of his voice.

“Mmnhn, good.” Benny kept at it, sparing a hand to stroke his partner’s cock.

He clenched his fists and squeaked as the burn overwhelmed and shot through him. When Gadreel opened his eyes, it was to the sight of his partner pumping his cock through his fist, his release dripping over his hand and onto his abdomen.

Benny wasn’t through with him, though—not yet. He gave Gadreel a few seconds to breathe and then started to pump his hips into him with reckless abandon, using his leverage to piston in and out of him with a quick, relentless rhythm.

Gadreel could hear his own wordless moan rising out of him. It sounded foreign, like someone else was groaning in the small, bare room.

Benny’s breathing stuttered and he shoved himself home, filling Gadreel’s insides with a sudden flood of warmth.

After a moment or two with his eyes tightly shut, Benny let his thighs go and pulled away gingerly. He let Gadreel rest on the bed. Benny was still breathing hard, and still eyeing him greedily.

Gad pulled his hands out from behind his back and admired the flush on Benny’s chest. Benny bent over him and lowered his head to lick Gadreel’s release off of his stomach and chest. It seemed much more intimate than anything they’d ever done before, maybe because it wasn’t leading up to more sex.

Gadreel slowly raised his hands to stroke Benny’s short hair through his fingers. He let the silence eat at him as much as he could. “Will you stay over here tonight?”

Benny’s scruff scratched his nipple as the detective nodded. “For a little while. Hard to sleep in a strange place.”

“Okay.” Gadreel kissed the top of his head, understanding the feeling. Maybe someday this would feel like his home too, at least enough to stay the night.  

\---

He called Novak’s office from his apartment’s phone on Monday before he left to catch the bus downtown. There was an hiss on the line, and he assumed that it was the switchboard connecting him.

“Hello?” It was the same voice—he hadn’t thought of the other man in years, and he’d never even seen his face, but it was that same distinct gravel that he could have sworn he’d forgotten.

“This is Gadreel Milton, with the SFPD. I’ve been receiving messages from this number.”

“Yes, I called you last week.”

“Sorry, I was out of the office,” it was probably a transparent lie, but his stomach roiled in anxiety, and he couldn’t think of a more polite way to say he was dodging his calls.

“Do you remember the case involving Kevin Tran?”

As if he could ever forget. It hadn’t been his last case, but it had been the one that made him lay awake at night for years after. “Yes, of course.” He reluctantly replied.

“I thought you might. Listen, this isn’t the sort of information I would normally give out, but I was reviewing the case for a parole board hearing, and Lieutenant Tran’s Mother asked to include you in the docket.”

He felt his palm connect with his forehead as he bent over his kitchen counter, phone still in hand. “Oh. Why?”

“I think that she is worried that Trenton will be freed early. She’s read your unofficial report, and believes that y—”

“Why did she read it?” He interrupted.

“It is not in the official evidence, so it was a matter of my own discretion.”

He could remember a little of what he’d written and sent to Novak’s desk. It was worrying. He didn’t think that it would make any kind of difference for Kevin, in the long run, but it could hurt his own reputation, and Tran’s name. “Is my appearance at the parole hearing also a matter of your discretion?”

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

“Then don’t call me. Nothing in my correspondence to you held water, which is why it wasn’t in the official report.”

“Listen, Detective. Trenton could be free by this summer.”

“Did his mother know he was gay before you let her read what I sent you?”

An uneasy silence hissed back at him, broken by an intermittent tapping sound. He wondered if the line was being recorded—it wouldn’t be that unusual, if Novak actually was working in the Pentagon. Eventually, he sighed. “No, Milton. She didn’t know. Importantly, neither did you, and neither did the men he served with.”

Gadreel realized his free hand was shaking. “You can’t just out people like that to their families.”

“…I would still like your help. When you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

Perhaps he had been shouting. He wasn’t certain that he could tell. His mouth worked dryly at an aborted apology. “I’m sorry for my tone,” he said. When he realized there was nothing more to say, Gadreel hastily added, “Goodbye.”

The phone made a dull ring as he set it down nearly hard enough to crack the plastic.

\---

That morning, on the bus, Detective Milton looked up from his book just in time to witness a young man in a leather bomber jacket slip his hand into a woman’s purse and lift out her pocketbook.

Of course he had to say something, and stood up. The pickpocket dropped the pocketbook quickly and snarled at him, loudly calling him a faggot.

The confrontation that followed resulted in a few bruised knuckles and an incapacitated, handcuffed robbery suspect lying on the sidewalk as his face bled.

Gadreel didn’t feel much better. He waited for a patrol car while sitting on the bus bench, staring at his hands. Friday was still five days away. **  
**


	12. December 1974

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena, Montana.

His discharge papers — the standard DD-214, which he’d carried with him for the past year — sat in his desk in the corner office at the police department of Helena, Montana, as though he’d need to prove it while he was at work. He had intended once to get it framed, although shelved the idea almost immediately.  As it was, the walls were bare white in the office, except for one plaque for marksmanship that was given to him after a fairly impressive test score. The Captain, Marv, seemed to like him, and though the short man seemed pleased enough with his job performance, Gadreel didn’t trust his smile. 

The adjustment to civilian life just didn’t seem to be happening. He still woke before dawn, ate his meals in under ten minutes, and rolled his socks together in pairs as he’d done in basic training. Maybe his problem was more that he couldn’t believe that he’d been able to leave the Army, under his own steam, without the world coming to an end. Gadreel had thought a voluntary discharge would be more difficult; that he would have to fight. But his years of service were done. It just seemed that relaxation wasn’t something he could really do, anymore, and his evenings and weekends were filled with chores. He probably had the cleanest apartment in the whole state. 

It had been eleven months since he’d arrived in Helena and been casually offered the position after a simple cursory interview. He estimated that half of the cases he investigated were solved within one day, and that less than ten percent were unsolved after a week. To put it bluntly, his job wasn’t a challenge. It constantly introduced him to new and varied horrors, as well as mundane, boring ones. He was startled at how many family disputes were settled with firearms during heavy storms. 

He liked the landscape most of the time, especially as the frost thawed and flowers started to poke through the soil on the roadsides — needless to say he was looking forward to spring. It was enough like the landscape he grew up in to be familiar, but distant enough to not include family.

He called home monthly — on the second Monday — and had a brief talk with his mother. She’d said that she was proud of him when he became a detective, but he’d never been able to hear it in her voice, and the warmth of the sentiment ebbed. She was just grateful that he wasn’t an  _ abomination unto the lord _ — a phrase burned into his brain from repeated readings of Exodus. Maybe he believed it, maybe he didn’t. What he  **did** know was that his life would be a nightmare if anyone found out that he’d rather look at a fully clothed man than a naked woman. 

Generally, nobody called and he had only a few misdialed numbers in a month. Wednesday evening in early December, his phone began to ring, just as he was sliding his key into the lock. 

He rushed inside and picked up the phone, letting his door swing closed as he held the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”   

“Hello, is this… Um… Lieutenant Milton?” 

The rank wasn’t right, but he mentally shrugged. “Yes, that’s me.” 

“This is Cas Novak.” 

“Ah. Is it General Novak yet?” 

Novak laughed, and it sounded weirdly forced. “No, no, and that’s fine. Listen. We got convictions in Tran’s case.” 

Gadreel gulped and sat down in a wood chair that rested next to the tiny metal table he ate at. “Well, good. That’s good.”

“I know it’s been a couple of years. You probably thought you’d never hear from me again. The trial’s over, so… I figured you should know.”

“How long did they get?” He stared at his grocery bag.

“Five years for both of them.” 

Gadreel blinked several times. “Weren’t there more than two men charged?” 

“Couldn’t make the charges stick, Sergeant.”

“And five years… that’s not much for murder.” 

“Second degree murder,” Novak corrected. “The burning was just to cover their actions. His lungs in the autopsy — ” 

“You can stop now.” He rubbed his forehead. 

Novak let him have his silence for a long moment, in which he looked out the window and watched the skyline of the setting sun blur. Gadreel blinked back his watering eyes and worked to breathe calmly. 

There was a sigh from the other end of the line, eventually. “We made it stick.” 

“Yeah. Good. Thanks for letting me know.” He knew there wasn’t any reproach in his voice, only apathy. He hung up, laying the phone down in the cradle reluctantly. 

He wondered whether he should have faked more enthusiasm for Novak’s news. The groceries were waiting, so he stood and started to put them away, looking at the phone now and then. Perhaps he’d get another call — that wasn’t quite a proper way to hang up, and he hadn’t said goodbye. Gadreel wanted to talk to someone about that case, and maybe he needed to, judging by the kind of dreams he had. As his fingers twisted off the cap of the bottle of Jim Beam, he decided that he could maybe risk the damage a psych evaluation might do to his career; but only after another few years in the department. 

\---

He drove his car, a 1972 Chevrolet Vega, to a liquor store and parked, checking his wallet and zipping up his coat. As he got out of the car, he looked to the motorcycles next door, in the front of a dingy, unnamed bar. 

He hesitated before going in. His usual Friday was spent at home, listening to the only radio station that came into his apartment, drinking straight from the bottle until he felt fine about touching himself. The possibility of continuing his routine until he died a lonely, stoop-backed old man loomed large in his head. Drinking amongst friends, if he had any, could really only be an improvement. It was time to start finding a few places in Helena where he liked to go, other than his office and his apartment. 

The bar was poorly lit and fogged with cigarette smoke. The bartender raised his eyebrow at him, but casually leaned forward, his leather vest open and touching the glasses in front of him. He had some gray in his beard, and in the wavy hair tucked behind his ears. 

“What are you having?”  

“Whiskey and soda.” Gadreel replied and sat down near the end of the bar, where he could comfortably watch the pool table. He could scarcely see the faces of the players — the light over the felt illuminated only things below shoulder height. 

“Fine. Two dollars.” He turned to make the drink.

Gadreel turned away to watch the game, setting a ten on the counter. The glass was set on the bar without a napkin or a coaster, and the bartender picked up the money. “Want me to keep them coming?” 

“Sure.” Gadreel smiled just enough to let him know it was appreciated, then sipped as he stared at the game. It wasn’t very competitive or interesting, and the players seemed slow and casual, but it was something to watch while he drank. 

The bartender settled near him, turning the bottles of scotch and whiskey so that the labels faced front. He kept an eye on Gadreel’s glass, watching him. 

When Gadreel set down his glass, he talked to the bartender. “Is this your bar?” 

“Yes. I’m Cain.” He made him another drink, mechanically efficient and slightly disinterested. 

Gadreel didn’t take it personally. He’d been hoping to find a quiet place, but the liquor was relaxing him, making him chatty. “There’s no sign outside.” 

“Right. Fell off. Place is called The Bee’s Knees.” Cain set the drink in front of the detective and sauntered off to see to the other patrons — most were drinking beer, with the occasional tumbler of amber liquid. It looked as though Gadreel was the only one with a mixed drink in the place. He thought he saw Cain smile at a crass joke down the bar and turned away from the little flutter he felt in his chest. 

The game was about to end, so he got up and ambled over to see if he could get in. He ended up playing — not doing well — and having to fish out a few fivers to buy a round for the men he was playing with. He knew that he probably shouldn’t, and he didn’t even know their names, but he played and lost again. 

When that was over with, he sat back down at the bar and ordered three fingers of scotch on the rocks. Cain smirked at him and it was even more devastating than his laugh — he wasn’t sure at all what it meant, but by the coaster that finally appeared under his glass, maybe this drink had earned him a measure of respect. 

He slouched and drank, propping his head up on his hand. He put another ten in front of Cain when he passed by and smiled at him. Sadly, the bearded man’s face was as impassive as cardboard. 

Gadreel was hungry and the peanuts weren’t quite enough.  He closed his eyes to find the room tilting and snapped them open again. 

The bartender was back in front of him. “You all right, friend?” 

He rolled his head on his shoulders. “Mmhm, yep.” 

This time, Cain was looking at him when he smiled. Gadreel gulped the rest of his drink and set the glass down conscientiously, so gently that it took a few seconds. The bartender stayed. 

Gadreel’s skin felt hot. He kept looking at Cain’s mouth, while licking his lips. He attempted conversation once more. “The Bees Knees, huh?” 

“You’re a little tipsy, aren’t you?” remarked Cain, wiping a spill Gadreel hadn’t noticed. 

“Why’s it called  _ The Bees Knees _ , though? Do I need to wear a striped shirt and get down on the floor to find out?” Gadreel might have winked. He couldn’t be sure what his face was doing. 

Cain tilted his head as Gadreel tried to swallow the words. That had been too loud. A menacing silence settled over the bar. 

“Uh… um, wait,” he mumbled stupidly. 

Cain watched impassively as someone came up behind Gadreel and wrapped their forearm around his neck, jerking him backwards off the stool and dumping him on the hard, peanut shell-encrusted floor. The first kick to his stomach made him convulse, but he hardly felt anything until the pain of a third and fourth kick twisted up through his chest and throat. 

He jerked away and reached out to grab a jean clad leg before it could connect with his head, and felt something gash his cheek — simultaneous with the brittle sound of shattering glass. 

To his credit, he didn't scream or cry out. He held the wet spot on his cheek and gasped when his fingers slipped and the wound opened, but it seemed strangely surreal. It hardly hurt at all, but breathing was hard and his heart was beating in his ears. Were there four of them or five? He was laying on his gun, and when he was kicked mercilessly in his groin, it dug into his back to remind him that it was there. 

Someone put their foot down on his neck. Gadreel had his first moment of blind panic; the world lost color and he grabbed, ineffectively, at the leather boot. It pressed down and Gadreel, legs kicking, began to pray. His free hand was being stepped on, and he knew he had blood smeared across his bared teeth, in his mouth. 

A loud banging froze his attackers. For a moment, Gadreel thought it was over; that they’d leave him alone. 

Cain’s voice was impossibly calm. “Not in here.” 

Gadreel felt his chest constrict painfully. He was dragged by his coat, across the broken glass and out the door into the ice cold parking lot. He was now making some horrible, pathetic keening noise between gasps of air. He loathed it. 

His body was dumped on the asphalt — head rattled on the ground and his hand found the butt of his revolver; then he was aiming it up at the towering men, shooting once over them, and watching as they scattered. It figured that his gun hand would be more sober than the rest of him. 

He rolled over and got to his feet, putting his free hand to his face — it was hard to tell which bits of him were broken and cut — he knew his face was gashed open somewhere near his ear and jaw, and there was a lot of blood from that alone. 

He listed violently towards his car and jerked the door open. He had to get somewhere safe. But he couldn’t just go to a hospital. And he couldn’t go back inside to use the phone at the bar. 

They would know. The police would know what had happened to him and immediately start asking all sorts of questions. He tossed his gun on the passenger seat. His inebriated and concussed brain was hatching something of a plan. 

He crudely fit his key into the ignition and started the car. 

\---

It hurt when he woke up. He was shivering all over, and his hands were both raised above his head, on the roof of his Vega with his revolver, which seemed exceedingly odd.  His seat belt held him firmly, hanging upside down. When he passed out again, he did so while watching snow fall through his windshield into an expanding pool of blood between his forearms. 


	13. March 1977

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

Gadreel was so tired Sunday morning that he had to force himself out of bed to shave, and dress. Sleeping in wasn’t for him — if he stayed in bed past eight in the morning, he usually had a kink in his neck, and he was in the habit of watching the sun rise through his front window. He’d missed it by a couple of hours today. Late nights made him feel sluggish, but sacrifices had to be made if his search for a suspect had any hope of success. 

He’d hit two new places the previous evening and one that he hadn’t spent a lot of time in before, but no luck. He was out of coffee grounds, too, so he couldn’t make himself a cup. 

He ran down the hill in his sweats and t-shirt, new Nike shoes laced on tight. The weather was beautiful, and it was hard to believe that just a week ago he would have been wearing a knit cap and sweatshirt. 

Gadreel paused to catch his breath at the corner before he went inside the little coffee shop, right at the edge of the neighborhood where the castro district stretched under the hills. 

It wasn’t crowded, which was a little bit of a relief; he had expected a madhouse. He didn’t think this neighborhood would have a large population of churchgoing folk, so maybe they were just still in bed, sleeping off their hangovers. 

The interior of Linea Café smelled delicious; it was vibrant with sunlight pouring in from the east-facing windows. He paid the cashier before finding a quiet seat near the window where he could watch the street with his steaming cup of coffee. He picked up a nearby morning paper, just glancing at the headlines, passively interested in the article about bay cleanliness. He was grateful to be closer to the open Pacific than to the bay, he supposed. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a man, sitting down the row and just a little behind to his right, who seemed to be looking at him, staring now and then before looking down at a book on the table. 

He frowned a little, then turned his head to meet the man’s eyes — and saw that he was actually drawing in a sketchbook. His brown hair was generous and glossy, long enough to be tucked behind his ears, and his brow was wrinkled, attention focused on the paper. 

Gadreel wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in a situation like this. He pondered acknowledging the man, but maybe that would break his concentration. 

His mind was made up for him, when the artist looked up and saw Gadreel staring straight at him. 

Gadreel looked away and sipped his coffee. 

The man got up and closed his book quickly with a snap. He took his cup to the counter and started for the door. 

Violent revelation hit Gadreel when the artist stood. Everything about him fit the verbal description of their suspect, even if Henry’s drawing didn’t. He jolted out of his chair and stood, clearing his throat loudly. “Hey, wait a minute.” 

The man stopped, hand on the door. It was as though every characteristic in Henry’s artist rendering had been wrong. His crude, protruding brow was softer, more expressive, with eyebrows that were well groomed. The hollows under his cheeks were not unhealthily sunken, but bordered by defined cheekbones and a generously handsome jaw. His eyes weren’t flat and murderous — they serenely stared at Gadreel, waiting for him to explain himself. 

He opened and shut his mouth before his voice would work. “Were you… drawing me?” 

He had a bashful smile. “Yeah. Sorry, it’s what I do.”

Gadreel smiled back, hoping it didn’t look strange. “May I see?” 

“I didn’t mean to bother you.” He held his book tightly, not opening it.

The detective didn’t want to scare him off. “Listen, I won’t judge, and I really don’t mind. It’s just… nobody’s ever tried to draw me before.” 

It was a half-truth. He had a crayon drawing somewhere that Anna had done of him when she was six. The man with the sketchbook, who was surprisingly slightly taller than Gadreel, blinked. “Oh,” he said. 

“Please, may I?” The possibility that this man was who he’d been hunting danced in his head. Gadreel wanted to lunge for him and grab the book. 

“Y… yeah. All right.” He took a step towards Gadreel nervously, then glanced down at his hands when he offered the book. 

The detective took the leather notebook and opened it, finding it full of drawings and crammed full of notes. Gadreel’s fingers began to tingle. 

The artist grabbed it back quickly and Gadreel jerked, only to find the artist laughing and flipping forward to the last pages of the journal. 

“Sorry, here, here’s you.” He pointed to a shaded drawing that painted Gadreel as a slip of bright sunlight backed by a deep shadow as he faced the window. 

“Oh, wow, that is me.” He blinked in alarm.

“Yeah, I… I like to draw people.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Um, I’m Sam.” 

“Sam… I… Sam what? You must be famous.” 

“Err… Sam Campbell. I’m not famous.” He had a nervous laugh. 

“Do you want to have another cup of coffee with me, Sam?”

He took the book back insistently and closed it. “I guess I could stick around. For a few minutes.” 

Gadreel nodded and went to order two more cups. He looked over nervously at Sam more than a few times, just to be sure he hadn’t vanished. Once he had the coffee, he relaxed a little, and made his way back to the counter at the window. “Here you go.” He sat down beside Sam.

Sam touched the cup and cleared his throat. “Thanks.” His smile was brief, and strangely nervous for such an attractive man.

“Did you go to art school?” Gadreel had to try to draw him out, to get as much information out of him as possible. 

“Yeah, for a little while.” He shrugged, not seeming to want to delve into the subject further. 

“Ah. Well, you clearly have a talent.”  Gadreel tried flattery again. 

Sam seemed uncomfortable and his smile was thin. “Thanks.” 

“You must get that a lot.”

“Well… I don’t show people what I draw very often. A lot of people don’t get it.” 

Gadreel sipped his coffee. “What don’t they understand?” 

Sam touched his mug of coffee, nudging it a few times on the tabletop, but didn’t drink it. “I don’t want to be famous. I just want to… show people as they really are.” 

Gadreel’s skin was breaking out in goosebumps. “That’s… do you feel like you accomplish that?” 

Sam shrugged. “Maybe sometimes.” 

The detective gulped and looked at the sketchbook. “Do you feel like you did that when you drew me?” 

“Oh, no. No. That was just practice.” The taller man fidgeted. “Do you always ask so many questions?” 

Gadreel shook his head. “No, sorry. I just don’t get a chance to be… out much.” 

“Out…” Sam looked him up and down. “You mean… out-out, don’t you?” 

He was taking a chance, but he nodded anyway.

“Oh,” Sam responded and played with his cup idly on the counter. 

Gadreel smiled at him hopefully, then turned his attention to his cup of coffee. He didn’t really want to drink it, and was sure that if he did his stomach would hurt after the jog back up to his apartment. “I didn’t really want more coffee. But I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Well, I never turn down free coffee. But I don’t really need more right now, either.” 

“You must hear this a lot, but you’re quite handsome.” Gadreel’s skin was crawling as he spoke, and he had butterflies. Sam was, in fact, very good looking.  In his mind, he was trying to not picture the autopsy photos from Benny’s pizza file or the Lily LaRue case. 

“Oh. Thanks.” Sam blushed. 

There was no way that this man could possibly be their killer. So, what was he doing speaking to him? Flirting? 

Gadreel took a sip of the damn coffee and glanced out the window. He thought about Benny, and tried to conjecture what he would do, and remembered his partner’s gun being shoved up under his chin. Benny would do whatever it took, and so would Gadreel.

Sam tilted his head towards him, seeming to analyze the structure of Gadreel’s face. “Maybe I could… um… draw you sometime. Not here. In a more formal setting.”

“What do you mean, like in a suit?” Gadreel blinked back at him. 

“No, I mean in the nude.” Sam watched his reaction, faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement.

Gadreel fumbled. “Oh. Oh,” he stuttered. He had to lead him on, if there was even a vague chance of him being their suspect. “Well… how about your place?” His face felt hot. 

Sam shook his head and frowned. “How about yours?” 

Gadreel pictured his empty apartment, and shook his head, too. He wasn’t prepared to take him back there, even if he was entrapping a suspected murderer. His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his sweats. “Can I have your number? Maybe later sometime.” 

“I don’t have a phone.” Sam shrugged. 

Gadreel licked his lips. “Do you want my number?”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam opened his sketchbook to the page where his drawing of the detective lay near the margin, and handed over his pencil. 

Gadreel wrote his first name under the picture, as well as his phone number. “I’m free evenings.” Maybe if he called he could stall him until he could get Benny to his place as back-up. 

“Okay, well. Have a nice day.” Sam stood up and offered him a handshake. 

Gadreel inwardly cringed. By comparison, Sam’s hand was dryer than the sahara.  The taller man left him there with both cups of coffee, and the detective watched them steam in the morning sunlight. 

\---

The office was quiet on Monday when he finally got in, after his court appearance to testify against the bus pickpocket. He had been vaguely relieved to see that he hadn’t completely shattered the punk’s face, and that the bruises were almost gone. Not that he regretted the beating one bit. 

Benny was in his chair, turned to face the window, hands on his typewriter. It was obvious that he would rather have a smoke than finish his report. 

“Benny, do you want to come for, uh… Pizza, tonight?” 

“That’s Friday.” 

Gadreel sighed. “It’s important.”

Benny looked up at him, puzzled. “What’s up?” 

“We can’t talk about it here.”

Benny nodded and went back to typing, picking out a word with an uneven, staccato rhythm. He paused and stared at him. “Did something happen?” 

Gadreel nodded. “I tried to call you yesterday. Four times. Where were you?” 

“What the hell, Galahad? You were fine after Saturday night.” 

“Benny, I think I met him at coffee.” 

His partner’s eye twitched. “At… where’s ‘at coffee’ mean?” 

“At Linnea café. I ran out of grounds.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure it was him. I mean — Benny, he looked like the sketch, sorta. Not as much of a goon, though.” 

“What? Okay, tell me everything.” Benny stood up. 

“Here? But we’re in the office.”

“Well, come closer, so you can whisper in my ear.” The cajun accent was emerging. Gadreel wondered if Benny knew how it broke his resolve.

He got up and walked over to him, gulping. Even though he was taller than Benny, he didn’t feel in charge. “Not in here, Benny.” Gadreel’s voice sounded more plaintive than he intended. 

Benny reached for his tie and dusted off some imaginary lint, gave a quick tug to the slack end, and sighed. “I’m gonna go up to the roof now.” 

Benny let him go and stepped away from him, heading to the window without a backwards glance. 

Gadreel had to make a conscious effort to relax. His fingers were clenched into fists, and he pressed his knuckles into his eyes and took a deep breath. Doing that to him in the office just wasn’t fair, the way his brain short-circuited and nearly sent him to his knees like he was Benny’s goddamn dog. He loosened his tie and looked at the open window. 

He looked at his desk, where a few files sat in his inbox, and then headed to the window to follow his partner. 

When he stepped out, he was caught off-guard by the wind. He always wondered how this had become Benny’s thing, why he always needed to get out of the office and into the open air. Of course, Gadreel knew better than to ask. He climbed the metal stairs to the roof slowly. 

Benny was near the edge, across the roof in his usual spot; turned away from the city and towards the bay. He looked at him and nodded briefly, arms crossed as he puffed on his cigar. 

“You can’t do that.” Gadreel walked over slowly. 

“Do what?” Benny huffed, smoke wreathing his head. 

“Try to… we can’t cross that line here. I can’t be like that and do my job.” 

“Being a cop doesn’t make you any less of a faggot, Milton.” Benny reserved his glare for the horizon. 

Gadreel was clenching his jaw. Benny was trying to make him angry, and it was working. “On one hand, you want me to ask you to fuck me, and on the other, you’ll call me a faggot for it.”  

“It’s what we are. The office isn’t bugged. You get cold feet about this case, it’s gonna be a goddamn disaster.” Benny glanced over at him, looked him up and down, and turned away.

He sighed. “What about our other cases? We have fourteen active homicides, Benny.” 

His partner bent down and balanced his cigar on the edge of his ashtray. “Yeah, that’s right.” Benny sauntered over to him, hands in his pockets. “So, tell me everything right quick before we get number fifteen.” 

Gadreel’s jaw was nearly locked tight. He paced along the roof, flexing his hands at his sides and taking deep breaths. When he got back to Benny, he ran his fingers through his own hair and tugged at the short ends. “I went to get a cup of coffee. He was there, and he was drawing me, and I stopped him and had a conversation.” 

“Did he fit the description?” 

“Yeah, pretty well. It’s like the drawing Henry did was just… much uglier.” 

Benny seemed to consider his expression, eyebrow raised. 

Gadreel sighed and continued. “He had the hair, but it wasn’t unkempt. He had the prominent brow, but he didn’t look like a caveman. You dig?”

“What’s his name?” 

“Sam Campbell.” 

Benny nodded, seeming to chew the information. “Does he live near the cafe?”

“No idea. He wouldn’t give me a phone number. But he offered to draw me.” 

“Were you flirting with him?” 

Gadreel’s jaw was sore from clenching it and it wasn’t even noon. “Yes.” 

Benny looked away and nodded. “Good. Did he draw you?” 

“Just a sketch in the shop. I… asked him to call me.” Gadreel felt dirty. 

His partner sighed. “Right. He doesn’t know where you live, does he?” 

“No, no. Of course not.” 

“Wish you could have gotten an address out of him.” He bent down to pick up his cigar. 

“His name’s too generic, there’s going to be more than ten Campbells in the phone book.” Gadreel headed for the stairs. “I’ll start mapping them out.” 

“Wait.” Benny could freeze him in his tracks, just like that. 

Gadreel stood looking away from him, knowing the detective wanted him to turn and face him. He refused, listening to the sound of crunching gravel as the cajun approached. 

Benny touched his sleeve. “This is bothering you.”

“It’s not the time to talk about it.” 

The older man reached up to his shoulder and squeezed. Gadreel brushed his hand away. “Not here, Benny. I can’t.” 

Benny dropped his arms, and stepped away. “I know. I can’t either. But I want to.”

It seemed best to leave. Gadreel took the stairs down to their office and opened a case file.

\---

Benny knocked on his door that same night. Gadreel hadn’t thought he would be coming by, so maybe he’d had a few more drinks than he would have if he’d known. But, of course, his partner was at his apartment, just to make things even more confusing and difficult. 

Gadreel opened his door with his bottle still in hand. “Right, pizza on Monday, I forgot.” He laughed at himself and stood aside. 

Benny stepped in and closed the door. “I thought you weren’t going to drink so much.” 

Gadreel scoffed. “I thought we discussed what happened on the roof.” 

“You didn’t seem happy with it.” The cajun set the pizza boxes down on the table in their usual place. “Are you cooking?” 

“Just a sandwich.” 

“Mmhm. We need to talk about this. You’re actin’ squirrelly.” 

“Maybe I ain’t acting.” Gadreel would never be this flippant with anyone else. Or use “ain’t” in a sentence. For a moment he admired his own daring, but then he saw the stormy expression on Benny’s face and slouched back against the counter. “Sorry.” 

“I know. I know it ain’t fair to you to pull rank in the office.” 

Gadreel found himself giggling. “I outranked you. In the field I would’ve been in charge.” 

Benny sighed and went to get him a glass of water. “I know, honey. Will you just sit down before you fall over?” 

Gadreel sat down and stared at the pizza boxes. “I don’t know how to talk about it.” He set his bottle on the table directly in front of him. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how to ask, either. Drink this, will you?” Benny set the water in front of him and sat down. 

Gadreel complied. 

“Back in the jungle… I had somebody with me, he watched my back. We traded off taking point, but he was… he took more risks for the job.” Benny took out his zippo with one hand, looking at the engraving on the case.

“Were you in love with him?” The silence that followed was weird, and Gadreel had to think about what he’d just said for a moment before he understood that what Benny had said was important. He sat up straight. “Sorry.” 

“My point is that you’re taking a risk with this Doodler case, and I’m askin’ you to do something that you wouldn’t normally do.” 

Gadreel shrugged. “This whole city is something I wouldn’t normally do. That’s the point.”

Benny tapped the table. “Sober up already, so I can talk to you.” 

He looked away. “You know I can’t do this. I can’t pretend to want something I don’t. I’m not that good at acting.” 

“You’ve been passing as straight for years.” 

“Maybe I want to be straight.” Gadreel wiped his face. He glanced at Benny and then down at the table. “I don’t know.” 

“My point is that you  _ can _ act. You can put on an act. You can get him here.” 

“I don’t like to lie. I know I have to, Benny. He’s just… He seems like an okay guy, if it wasn’t for the fact he was drawing me…” 

“ — and he fits the description perfectly.” 

“We’re out on a limb here, and you want me to seduce someone. You want me to smile at the guy that we think did this — ” He tapped the pizza boxes. “ — and I can’t do it. If he’s the doodler, if I  _ think _ that it’s him, then I can’t pretend to like him. And if it’s not him, then what the hell am I doing flirting with the man, when I’m already in love with you?”

Benny blinked. “What did you just say?” 

The statement had run away from him and Gadreel had painted himself into a corner. “I… I might be in love with you.” 

Benny fidgeted and set his hands down on the table flat, letting the silence descend and envelop the room. Gadreel felt himself growing cold, quietly humiliated. Eventually, the cajun reached into his pocket and took out his keys, then worked at removing his keychain from the steel ring. “This is for you.” He set it down on the table delicately.  

“Your keyring?”

“Used to be, I’d wear this around my neck. Against regs, but nobody gave a shit.” Benny looked a little sad and slid the disk-shaped medallion over to him. 

It was worn — silver-plating worn down over a duller metal; a figure of a man in a hat with a crook and some illegible lettering. There was a disc-shaped mark on the right of the circle, instantly recognizable as the crater impression of a bullet. Gadreel touched the edge reverently. “This saved your life.” 

“Probably, yes. It’s St. Nicholas. If you believe in that kinda thing.” 

“You’re giving this to me?” He wasn’t sure he deserved it, or believed in it. But the fact that it had been a talisman for his partner for so many years meant something. He didn’t have to say it. 

Benny nodded, looking at the medallion. “It’s lucky.” 

Gadreel licked his lips and hoped his voice wouldn’t fail him. “Thank you.” 

Benny stood up and slowly moved around to his side of the table, and slid the bottle of Glenfiddich away from Gadreel, watching him to see if he would protest the whole time. 

Gadreel just looked up at him and licked his lips. 

“I know it’s rough, all right? But we’ve got to find this bastard.” Benny touched his cheek.

Back to the case. He knew the disappointment showed on his face, because Benny tilted his chin up and leaned down to kiss the end of his nose. 

Gadreel chuckled. “You’re buttering me up.” 

“Yeah, but not so I can throw you in the deep fry.” He rumbled low and knelt down, touching Gadreel’s thighs and running his palms over the crease in his pant legs. “I’ll back you up all the way. You just gotta bait the hook.” 

“I don’t think I can. Seduce him, I mean.”

Benny hooked his beltloops and pulled him forward on the chair. “What do you think you need to do? Bat your eyes and do that pretty mouth thing?”

“What pretty mouth thing?” Gadreel looked down at him, confused by the compliment.

Benny pulled him off the chair and onto his thighs. “That one.” Benny kissed him gently, easing him close on his lap. 

Gadreel closed his eyes and moved his hips against him. “Take your gun off, Detective.” He could feel the holster pressing against the inside of his thigh and while it felt… satisfying, he didn’t want to have the thing go off. 

Benny obliged him and undid his belt, pulling it free of his hip holster and putting his piece up on the table. Then he pushed Gadreel down under his dining table, flattened his shoulderblades against the linoleum, and rutted against his groin. “The things you do to me, Lieutenant.” 

Gadreel thudded his head back, crowded between his partner and the floor,  squirming up to keep his crotch in contact with Benny.

Benny pulled his collar open, so he could get at him with his lips and tongue, nipping at his throat, languidly humping against him as though he had all evening. Just months ago this would have been unthinkable, even in his imagination. 

“Please, please,” Gadreel murmured, chanting the word again and again, just barely audible. 

“Shh, take me out.” Benny’s voice was rough, low, and close to his ear. 

Yet he didn’t make it easy, rolling against him as Gadreel fumbled at his pants. He had a sly smirk fixed on his face as Milton grabbed his waistband and pulled at the button, clumsily popping it open and then yanking down the zipper. Gadreel cupped him and pulled him out of his boxers, finding him heavy and satisfyingly thick. 

Benny shifted his hands down to his hips and stroked Gadreel through his pants, not even hinting at letting him out of their tight confines. For his part, Gadreel sealed his eyes shut and squeezed Benny through his fist, pulling groans out of his partner that made his gut clench. 

He rubbed his thumb along the underside of the head and pinched him against the curl of his finger, wrenching a growl out of Benny that made Gadreel quicken his pace.  He wanted him inside, to hear that sound again against the planes of his back as he was pinned face-down to the floor. 

For his part, Benny made his hand as tight around Gadreel’s member as he could, considering he was still fully clothed. He thrusted against Benny’s hand, sure that he was leaking into the fabric of his underwear. 

“Look at me,” Benny demanded quietly, hips pumping himself through Gadreel’s fist.

When he opened his eyes, he could see the way he was effecting Benny written all over the man’s face. Benny bent down close, breathing against his lips and then kissing his jaw, before pulling back to hold him in a heated stare as he squeezed Gadreel’s groin, pushing his cock back and forth under his cupped palm.

Gadreel answered him with a whimper, feeling the pull and clench. He wasn’t sure how to stop himself from coming, and he felt his face flush as it crashed right through him. He kept his eyes open — things went a little blurry, but Benny’s gaze held him pinned down just as much as his body did. 

Gadreel gasped. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”  

Benny shocked him with a soft kiss to his adam’s apple. “You came, didn’t you.” 

Gadreel shuddered a little. “Yes.” 

Benny breathed warmly on his neck and bit just beneath the collar, worrying at the skin with his teeth. He kept rubbing him through the pants, rasping his oversensitive skin against the agonizing texture of soft, warmly wet cotton.   

Lafitte pulled away a little and stilled his hand. “C’mon, get up in a chair.” 

Gadreel struggled to comply, following him out from under the table. He felt sluggish, the mix of scotch and a too-quick orgasm making him slow and strung out. It was absurd that he was still fully clothed. Benny pushed him gently into the kitchen chair and placed a hand flat on his chest. “Stay.” 

Gadreel was staring at Benny’s erection as it bobbed and swayed, pinkish and sticking out a little absurdly from his open slacks. He glanced up at his face for a moment to nod an affirmative before going back to appreciating the size and shape of his partner, craning his neck as Lafitte walked around him. 

The cuffs seized his wrists tight and quick. Benny rattled them a little against the wood to make sure they weren’t too tight, and then circled around to the front, lazily jerking himself through a practiced, hypnotic gesture. 

Benny allowed him a long look before steering the head of his cock to his lips. “Oh.” Gadreel said, blushing.

A bead of precome slid acros his bottom lip, deliberately smeared there before Benny was pushing into his mouth fast, cradling his head in his hands to keep Gadreel still when he hit the back of his throat. 

He lurched a little, swallowing at the broad head as Benny rocked in short thrusts, never allowing him enough time to take a deep breath. Gadreel could hear himself gurgling, and when his partner slid back to rest on his tongue, he couldn’t stop the disembodied and heaving moan that rose out of his chest. 

He teased him like that a few more times, always cradling the back of Gadreel’s head to hold him just where he wanted him. 

Benny pulled back, growling, and pumped himself through his fist, using his other hand to cup his partner’s jaw and hold Gadreel’s mouth open. “Do you want it in your mouth, Lieutenant?” 

“Uh-huh.” Gadreel nodded into his palm and kept glancing from Benny’s face down to the swollen, spit-slick head as it slid through his grip. 

Benny sounded strained and gravely. “Close your eyes.” 

Milton complied and felt a spurt against his cheek, then a dollop across his tongue — Benny slathered the rest on his bottom lip, and let a string drip down his chin. 

His partner didn’t let go of his jaw, but looked down at him with burning greedy eyes. Gadreel would have felt filthy if not for that heated, aroused gaze.

Benny spoke after a deep, heaving breath. “Don’t swallow. Just stay open.” The cajun dropped down to his knees in front of Gadreel and quickly opened his shirt and trousers. The smirk on his lips was telling and mischievous as he fished out Gadreel’s spent cock and stroked him through his fingers.

Gadreel stretched his arms and rocked a little, testing the cuffs, trying to process how stimulating Benny’s touches were to his dick, how it felt good but almost hurt. He listened to himself pant through an open mouth, closing his eyes. 

The cajun purred close to his cheek. “There you go.” Hs circled him with his fingers and squeezed gently. 

Gadreel groaned, and to his embarrassment, drooled down his chin. 

Benny chuckled gently and swiped his face with his fingers, scooping the mess off of his cheek and cupping his chin. “Spit.” 

Gadreel obeyed, sure that he was red from embarrassment, as well as from being so turned on. His partner wiped his bottom lip and returned to stroking him, wringing a ragged gasp from Gadreel. 

His hand slid roughly down to cup his balls. “You’re getting hard again.” 

A bead of sweat dripped down his nose and Gadreel jerked his hips. “It feels.. It’s too much.”

“Hurts?” Benny took his hand away and touched his chest. 

“Yes, but… god, don’t stop, please, Benny.” 

“Sir.” 

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, aching and trembling in the chair. He brought his knees together and squeezed his thigh muscles, shuddering unevenly. 

His partner didn’t put his hand back down where Gadreel wanted it, but instead started to touch his chest, pushing his open shirt down his shoulders. It wasn’t fair, how he could feel emptied, laid totally bare for Benny, while the cajun just watched his face with a calm, reassuring smirk. 

Benny grasped him by the nipples and pinched them both, hard. 

He gasped raggedly, and when his partner twisted, bit back a scream. His legs kicked and rattled the chair, and that made him move against Benny’s tight grip and feel as though he might start bleeding at any moment. 

Benny let him go and he let out a little choked off sob, shuddering softly and pulling at his wrists. 

His partner kissed him and bit his lower lip, hands on his thighs, fingers digging into his muscle. “You’re doing so good.”

Gadreel licked his faintly sore lip and smirked. “Doing so  _ well _ , you mean, sir.” 

Benny grabbed his nipples again and pinched them slowly, gradually building the pressure until Gadreel’s heels drummed the floor and his head was thrown back. 

The pressure suddenly lessened and Benny leaned his head down and laved one of the tortured buds with his tongue.

Gadreel gasped at the contact and whimpered. It was difficult to process the sensation — it should have felt good, but with how sore he was it was a strangely soft and tender pain, a rush of incredible sensitivity.

Benny pulled back and gave the other side the same treatment, wrenching a sob out of Gadreel that was so loud he startled himself. 

He looked down at his sweaty red chest and Benny, who touched his nipple with his teeth as a gentle reminder of what he could do. Everything throbbed, and his chest was heaving with ragged breath. 

“Sir, oh god, please. I need to — ” 

“I got you, chère.” Benny sucked at the nub and dropped his hand to stroke Gadreel’s aching dick again, twisting the head and pinching between his thumb and forefinger. 

Gadreel was desperate — the burning ache in his lower belly was white-hot and made him rock his hips back and forth, seeking any kind of relief. He didn’t so much come as break open, a cry dying in his throat as he felt the clench and spark of his orgasm.

His partner worked him through his fist slowly, turning gentle and soft as he milked him. He sobbed quietly, unspeakably grateful when Benny cradled his head and let him wipe his face against his shoulder. 

Benny helped him to get out of the chair after he uncuffed him. He, thankfully, didn’t mention his unsteady legs as he helped him to his bedroom, pulled him out of his clothes the rest of the way, and covered him with a blanket. 

Gadreel went to sleep with a tired smile and his socks sticking out of the side of his bed.


	14. December 1974

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena, Montana.

He woke up a few times in the night, dizzy and in the dark — he was never able to figure out what was the matter with him and his eyes kept closing and sending him back under again. In the morning he woke again in a bed, feeling lighter than a feather. Things started to make sense as soon as he was coherent enough to realize that he wasn’t in _ his _ bed, in _ his _ room. The biggest clue, besides the change in color of the walls — was the shining clear bottle of an intravenous drip to the side of his bed. He stared at it until a nurse walked in, blinked at him, and then smiled.

The delay was strange. He decided to speak first. “Hello.”

“Good morning.” She picked up the edge of the bedsheet and peeled it back. Her hands were cold and painful on his ribs, and he jerked. “All right, just settle. I’ll get the rest of them.” The nurse left — a certain hardness about her lingered. He gulped and tried to sit up. It was immediately apparent that the attempt was a mistake.   

Anna was the first in the room, even before the doctor. She touched his forearm and squeezed gently, looking away and down at the floor.

Gadreel turned his head just a little and felt pain jolt down his arm. “Anna, what happened?”

She glanced at his face just long enough for him to understand that she was really, very worried. “Mom’s here. You were in a car wreck.” 

Gadreel remembered, with surprising clarity, driving purposefully much too fast into a turn — the lurch and roll that sent his Vega pitching noisily sidelong. He had only intended to skid off the road and bash the fender against something, to cover his injuries from the bar. He licked his lip and felt a swollen side. “Was anybody hurt?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Besides you? Nobody. Looks like you just lost it on a turn.” 

“Mom’s here?” 

“You’ve been unconscious for four days. When I got the call, they… didn’t say you were going to make it. So, I called home.” Her eyes watered and she wiped them before they could spill over. 

He tried to smile though his face ached. “Don’t you cry or I’ll start.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

He squeezed Anna’s hand and shushed her. “It’s fine, Anna. It barely hurts at all.”  

Anna was about to say something else, but then their mother opened the door and stepped in, and it stopped his sister cold. He was anticipating her derisive tirade, but instead, Naomi came in and just sat down in a chair by his bed and folded her hands in her lap. His dad wasn’t with her; probably at home, writing pulp novels in his bathrobe. 

“It’s good to see you, Mom.” He said, still filled with dread. “Sorry about the circumstances.” 

“The doctor will be in soon,” she replied tersely. “Your Captain came by.”  

Gadreel quietly started to panic. “Oh.”

Thankfully, the doctor came in before he could stew in his own thoughts for too long. “Glad you’re awake, Mr. Milton.” He studied his clipboard, oblivious to the tense environment in the room.

“Can you give me the rundown?” Gadreel asked. 

“Well, you were concussed, you broke your nose, lacerated your cheek, broke your left wrist, and lacerated your torso. There’s a prodigious amount of bruising. We’re keeping you on some light painkillers, so don’t try to move without assistance today or you might pop some of the stitching.” 

He slowly absorbed the information. “Got it. How long will I need to be here?”

“At least a few days, so we can keep an eye on the hematomas.” 

Marv walked into the room, wearing the same insufferable sweater-vest and brown corduroy jacket he wore in the precinct at least twice a week. 

“Captain.” Gadreel raised his good hand. “Naomi, Anna, this is my Captain, Marv Steinbeck.”

“Oh, Gad. I’ve already met them. You were out for a few days.” He shrugged, dimpled smile strangely broad and beaming. “We’ve got to have a talk.” Marv had a slim folder in his hands. He looked short even when Gadreel was laying down. 

His mother sighed. “Anna, now would be a good time for breakfast, don’t you think?”

Anna squeezed his arm gently before she got up. Her eyes were distant and guarded as they slid off of him and away.

Marv held the door for them, then let it swing shut, waiting a few moments before dropping the plastered smile. “Well.” 

“Captain.” Gadreel looked at the folder in his hands, wondering what sadistic impulse would make his superior officer want to bring him work while he was in the hospital.

“Too bad about your cases. I’ve had to scramble to hand them off to other detectives, but that’s not the issue.”

“Then what is the issue?” The light from the window seemed incomprehensibly bright, and it dropped Marv half into shadow. 

“Well, it’s you.” Marv shrugged feebly and laughed. “You know how long it’s been since I worked a case? Nevermind. A while. It’s been a while.” 

“The car is totaled, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, I’ll say. You were upside down for a while, nearly bled out.” 

He thought he remembered his arms being lifted to the ceiling of car. The whole tableau only made sense if he was upside down at the time. 

Gadreel was fairly sure that he should feel some gratitude at having escaped death. But it felt like gambling and just managing to break even in a room full of card sharks. 

The captain paced. “It’s good that you’ve got your life, you know. It would be a hell of a thing if you’d died like that. Although now that it’s all you’ve got… ” His smile splintered, brittle, and Marv shrugged. 

The dawning realization of what he meant was like a bucket of water over his head. “You’re firing me?” 

“You really did it to yourself.” Marv shrugged again. “You discharged your weapon while intoxicated. The liquor store called it in. So, I interviewed a few people, found out a few things about you… well, really just one thing. Your sister already came by to clean out your desk.”  

“What? No.” 

“I can’t have unreliable people working for me.”

“I’m not… unreliable, sir. I was simply investigating a bar that was rumored to be a hell’s angels hideout.” 

“Giving me a line, Gadreel? It won’t work. I always knew you were defective, detective.” He smiled at his clever alliteration, then shrugged and dropped the file on his legs. “Sign this, I’ll pick it up from your doctor later.” 

While he fumbled for a denial, Marv turned and left. 

In retrospect, the most irritating thing about it was that he couldn’t reach down to grab the file, or even sit up. He had to lay there, wondering if his pension and retirement package were cut off too, and in a drug-induced haze, he realized that he very well may have ended his career by being too forward with a scruffy bartender. 

It was hard to explain why he was laughing when the nurse came in again to change his drip. He wasn’t sure that he knew, either. 


	15. June 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

The routine was easy enough to slip into. He would walk down to the cafe at the bottom of the hill and order a cup to go, waiting around until he had to leave to catch the bus. 

It was strange to be a regular, and it felt a little dangerous, being so predictable. The people at the coffee shop knew his name, and he’d lied about what he did for a living—told them that he worked in an office. He acted like he was happy to just be there in the morning, but it had been months, and Sam Campbell hadn’t called him on his home phone. Sometimes he dreamed that it was ringing and woke up, reached for the receiver and only heard the dial tone. 

Benny probably knew how much he relied upon his presence at the end of the day—whether he would say  _ “Adios” _ or  _ “see you later,” _ it gave him something to anchor himself to. At the least, they saw each other every Friday night. And even if they weren’t intimate, Gadreel still needed a friend. It was true that he’d do anything Benny asked, and the more that he thought about it, the less it bothered him. Lafitte was a good guy, and wasn't that what love was?

“We got a Jane Doe,” Lafitte announced one morning as he set down his desk phone. “Hop in the truck, Galahad. We’re headed to the beach.” Benny picked up his navy blazer and started putting it on. 

“Is the body there, or are we going to work on our tans?” 

“Very funny. Body was found ten minutes ago. Beat cops are already there.” 

He followed his partner to the elevator, out into the garage, and climbed in the truck next to him. Benny started the engine and reached over to put his hand on Gadreel’s knee, then pulled it back quickly, like it had been an accident.

“It’s okay,” Gadreel said, eventually frustrated enough by the silence in the cab as they pulled onto the street. “If you want to put your hand on my leg, go ahead.”   

Benny smirked and shook his head. “Your slacks won’t hide a damn thing if you pop a boner.” 

“We’re about to see a dead body, Benny. I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“You know… I’m not sure if it’s weird that it’s not a problem for you, or if it’s weird that it’s a problem for me.” 

“Bodies don’t bother you?” 

Benny laughed. “Hey, I just figure… soul’s gone. They got better things to do than stick around and spook me.” 

“I guess I see that.” Gadreel looked out the window.

He drove carefully past Golden Gate park and turned left at the beach, took them south until the dunes curled up and brought the two-lane road over a sandy rise. There were a couple of police cruisers pulled over, blocking the view from the pavement, and Benny parked just ahead of them. 

Gadreel got out of the pickup and wished that he’d brought his sunglasses. It was an uncharacteristically clear and warm day, even for summer in San Francisco. The uniformed police were keeping their distance from the body, which was curled up, on her side, facing the road. 

Blood on sand was just odd, like a stain left by melted chocolate. Gadreel paused and looked at the body, at her partial state of dress, at the slashes on her arms and torso. 

Benny was standing beside him, and sighed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was done by the pizza man.” 

“You mean our…” He looked at his partner and saw Benny’s conspiratorial wink. “…right, except the vic is a woman.” He looked back down at the body, hoping that his skin would stop crawling soon. 

Her hair had fallen over her face, which laid pressed down on the sand. Her hands were delicate and bloody, crossed over her torso. Gadreel tilted his head. “Did they take photos yet?” 

“Not yet. They’re on the way.” 

“Find her shoes?” 

“Don’t think so.”

“Witnesses?”

Benny sighed. “Not a one.” 

Gadreel looked at where her bare feet had dug into the sand, deep ridges around her ankles. She’d taken a while to die, and out here on the dunes, with the traffic just over a rise, it would be surprising if anyone had heard her screaming. 

Benny fidgeted with his zippo while he waited, and Gadreel placed the numbered markers near evidence. Mostly, it was blood drops, but there was also a gold hoop earring and a clump of the victim’s hair. His nerves stopped bothering him about the same time the department photographer showed up, and he stood aside while they got the shots they needed to show the scene. 

After they were done, Benny walked over and moved the body a little, looking closely at the wound in her stomach before he pushed her hair out of the way of her face. 

“Fuck!” Benny stood up. “Shit.” 

Gadreel couldn’t see what he was cussing about, so he took a step around. Maybe it was the deep cut under the curve of her chin that was gaping and filled with bloody sand. “What is it?” He asked, as he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“It’s Bela.” Benny took a step back. “Shit, it’s Bela Talbot.” 

Gadreel had to tilt his head—her makeup was smeared and her lip bruised, but once he was able to filter out her unnatural stillness, the jolt of recognition slid into place like a door slamming shut. 

He took a step back and bumped into the medical examiner, and turned, unable to focus on the man’s features. “Sorry. Sorry.” Gadreel stumbled to the truck and leaned heavily on the door. 

Benny had stepped back from the body, and his face looked stony as he stared at the sand around Bela’s body. Gadreel could see the faint tremble of his left hand, the only movement besides the wind flapping his tie. 

Gadreel wanted to go to him, to say something that would be a comfort. Nothing came to mind that didn’t sound superficially hollow, and in the absence of meaningful words, he knew he’d want to touch Benny… that was something they couldn’t risk.

When the medical examiner rolled her stiff body onto the stretcher, Benny looked away, scanned the horizon, and found him at the truck, standing uselessly and looking right back at him. 

The paperwork was simple—almost agonizingly so. There were no suspects immediately apparent that weren’t former and known associates, and most of them were in prison since Bela had turned state’s evidence. Benny was able to compile a small list of names that had escaped arrest, but it was easy to tell from his posture just how hopeless he felt. 

Their office felt empty from the lack of conversation.

Gadreel wasn’t sure what he should feel about the woman’s death. Seeing her lying so still sickened him, but beyond that… he’d think about it later.  

Eventually, just before Benny could put his peacoat on and give him the  _ adios _ , Gadreel spoke. “Are you going to be okay, Benny?” 

He took a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” 

Milton almost asked if he was sure, but just fidgeted with his typewriter instead, checking the tab margin. 

Benny stopped with his hand on the door handle, looked back for a moment, and then left. 

Gadreel listened to his partner’s footsteps retreating, and clamped down on the impetuous urge to follow him.

He went home on the bus and gazed out the window at the record shop where Charlie worked. She was still there, red hair barely visible behind the reflecting glass. 

On his porch, he was confronted by his neighbor. She was older, and wore a housecoat outdoors in any weather. “Your phone has been ringing all day.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Missouri. Sorry if it disturbed you.” 

She didn’t smile. “Get an answering service.” The woman turned and went back into her condo.

His phone started ringing again as he fit the key into the door, and was only on the second ring when he snatched up the receiver. 

“Hello?” 

Silence on the line, perhaps a deep breath. Then a dial tone as the caller disconnected. 

His phone didn’t ring again that night. Gadreel slept fitfully.

It was a rough week. There was a father who would likely face a second degree murder charge after killing his daughter’s rapist, and that was the win they had to take. Nothing else even came close to being solved. 

\--- 

Benny gave him a long look on Friday just before it was time to hit the road. “Adios.” 

“Coming over for pizza later?” 

Benny sighed. “Nope.” 

Gadreel knew his face wasn’t hiding his disappointment. He felt like he had hardly slept, and slumped back in his chair as Benny simply left. 

He numbly finished filing his paperwork back in the folders and looked at the window as he contemplated just staying in his chair until the sun had set. 

Instead, he took his time getting home and got off a few stops early to walk up the hill in the clear weather. 

The key fit into the lock, but the door swung inward before he could turn it. It had been kicked in, and he could see from where he stood that his records were all over the floor. 

Gadreel pulled out his gun and clenched his teeth, taking a few steps in, slow enough to breathe deep a few times before he even cleared his dining room and kitchen. There were broken plates on the floor and his records and books had been scattered around the place. His TV was missing. Milton would need to call it in, get a report filed, and start cleaning—as soon as he made sure that the burglar was gone. He toyed with the hammer on his pistol and walked into his bedroom, feeling his heart stop at the sight of his dildo on the covers of his bed, and the graffiti above his bed, smeared in crest toothpaste, reading simply: “Faggot.” 

He took a deep breath and checked the cupboard and the bathroom, then stood in his kitchen and stared at the phone, slowly putting his .38 back in his hip holster. He couldn’t call the station. Sure, he could wipe off the wall in his bedroom, and hide the dildo somewhere discreet, but if they managed to bring in the burglar, they would tell the whole precinct how much of a fag he was. 

He made a half-hearted attempt to stack his albums, tossing a couple that had been shattered. Regrettably, the rare T. Rex was among them. He’d only listened to it once—it was a shame to lose it, but he didn’t think he’d spend the extra money to replace it. A thought lingered at the back of his mind that he ought to just throw out the whole mess, because the books and albums weren’t actually useful. He ought to go back to the couple of boxes and the bedroll that he’d moved here with, and just walk back out. It felt frantic and cowardly to even consider a retreat. He’d been bullied before, and this was no different. 

He started to drink, finding a bottle unbroken in the cabinet under the oven. After two swallows, he fumbled open his address book and found Benny’s personal number. If anyone would understand, it was him. 

Bela’s body appeared in his mind as he dialed the first numbers, and he shut his eyes as the rotary dial clicked its way down. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his address book before continuing. 

It rang, and rang, and just when Gadreel was about to hang up, the receiver clicked and he heard hard breathing on the other end. “Hello?” 

“Benny?” 

“Galahad?” 

“Yeah… sorry to call you at home.” 

“Are you callin’ cause I didn’t come over with pizza?”

He was mute for a moment, unsure whether or not he was hearing a slur in Benny’s voice. “No. No, Benny, I was robbed.” 

“Wait, what?” He could practically hear his partner straighten up. “On the street?” 

“No. My apartment. They kicked the door in and took the tv.” 

“Damn. You call it in yet?” 

“No, no. I… the truth is they found some things and wrote some graffiti and… they know.” 

“What do they know?” 

“They wrote faggot on my wall.” 

A long silence. “Oh. Fuck. Who did it?” 

“I don’t know, but Benny… my neighbor told me my phone was ringing all day long the day Bela died. And it… stopped when I finally picked it up. I think they were figuring out my routine.”

“…get out of the apartment right now.”

“But—” 

“You’ve got to leave. It’s him. It’s him, and he knows.” The panic in Benny’s voice made him sound like an entirely different person. 

Gadreel looked at the door, saw the torn wood around the deadbolt anchor, and gulped. “Yes, okay. I’ll go to a motel.” 

“No, no, you won’t. Get a taxi. Come over here.” 

Gadreel gulped. He didn’t even know where Benny lived. And just like that, his stomach was in knots. “Oh. Okay.” 

“I’ll meet you at the corner of Divisadero and California.”

“Yes, sir.” It was reflex, but he felt himself immediately blush and stutter. “Sorry. I’ll… be there soon.” Gadreel hung up. 

He found a few nails to pin his front door shut from the inside and left the window open where he crawled out, with a small bag that had a change of clothes and some toothpaste.

\---

In the cab, his stomach fluttered, and no matter how many times he looked up at the driver, he couldn’t catch the man looking back at him. Gadreel wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted him to acknowledge his presence in his car, or why he felt jittery and sick going over to his partner’s place. He really wanted another drink, just to calm his nerves. 

He paid the driver and stepped out onto the corner with his small bag. Gadreel walked across the street to where Benny stood, puffing his cigar with his hands in his pockets, looking so casually cool that Milton couldn’t help but feel awkward when his legs carried him closer. 

Benny sighed and puffed. “You look shook up.” 

“Yeah. I… could use a drink, actually.” 

The scruffy man grimaced. “Would have come to get you, but I finished off a bottle of wild turkey right when I got home.” Benny turned and walked down California Avenue, perhaps listing slightly. 

He deeply regretted not being able to walk just a little closer to his partner, but drifted along in his wake, a step or so behind. Benny led him to a blue and brown victorian house, startlingly vertical in a narrow lot, and followed him down the driveway to where there was a short set of stairs going down to his basement apartment. 

Benny unlocked it and let him in, gesturing drunkenly to the lintel. “Watch your head. You’re so tall you might hit the beams.”

Gadreel had to smirk at that and put his hand up just to touch the ceiling. More than anything, the place  _ smelled _ entirely like Benny. Not like his socks and cigar ashes, but just the soft luster of the cajun’s aftershave, and maybe the faint ghosts of fried onions. Perhaps honey and rum.

“Thanks for letting me come over.” 

“I already told my landlord you were sleeping over.” 

Gadreel’s eyes must have been as wide as saucers, because Benny started to laugh. 

“You look like you swallowed a bug.” He went to his short refrigerator and opened it, fetching a couple of cans of beer. 

“Your landlord knows?” 

“Oh, yeah. No.” Benny popped open the beer with a chuckle. “He knows you’re staying over cause you got robbed. He doesn’t know about us.” 

Gadreel looked around the apartment and saw a few bare bulbs for lighting, a pair of wire ears over an old television, and a prodigious amount of Louis L’Amour novels. He took the beer from Benny when he held it out, and sat down at the small table.

The edge of Benny’s bed was visible from the front door, and that was just about all there was to the apartment. He wanted to forget what had happened that had brought him here, and just be near Benny, but after the moment of levity, it felt like Bela’s murder and the apartment break-in was sucking all the air out of the room. 

He considered the table while Benny toweled off his frying pan and set it back on the stove. 

“Benny, what are we going to do?” 

His partner looked at him and leaned back against the sink countertop, letting his knuckles just rest there. They were scraped red as though he’d been in a fight. “I got no earthly idea.”

“Why would the doodler… why would he go after her?”

Benny sighed. “If it’s him that killed her… and I mean, I want to think it’s a big  _ ‘if’ _ —he’s gotta know it’s me looking into his murders.” 

“It looked like one of his.” Gadreel couldn’t expel the image of her dead, empty face from his mind. He stared at the table. 

“She used to be a call girl and an informant.” Benny sighed. “Plenty of bastards wanted her gone.” 

Gadreel rubbed his face and took a sip of his beer, finally. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Benny looked at his close ceiling and toyed with his suspenders. 

“Is it paranoid to think that Sam killed her?” 

Benny shook his head. “But it’s… if he did, he knows you’re a cop.”

“Huh?” Gadreel blinked. “I don’t follow.” 

“Only reason this guy would have murdered Bela is because he somehow found out that she was connected to me. He’s killed two of my friends now, so I’m just gonna assume he knows I’m hunting him. And if he’s doing that…” Benny trailed off, looking at Gadreel. 

Gadreel rubbed his forehead. “Then he knows who I am.” 

Benny sat down across from him at the table. “And if he broke into your apartment… well, him outing you is the least of your problems, brother.” 

Gadreel shifted in his seat. “I’ll get the door fixed tomorrow—clean it up.” 

“You need to move out. This weekend.” 

He balked at the thought. He wasn’t about to run. “No. It’s my home.” 

Benny’s fingers gripped the edge of the table as he huffed. “I put you in harm’s way. I might as well have pimped you out and served you on a platter.”

“Come on, that’s not right.” 

Benny looked down and sighed. “Maybe not.”

Gadreel leaned over the table to touch his forearm. “Please. It’ll be all right.” 

His partner shook his head and met his gaze. Benny’s eyes were wet. “I think we’re all damned, honey.”

Gadreel stepped around the table and knelt down to put his arms around his partner. It felt weirdly vulnerable to hug another man, but it was all that he could think to do. “Don’t say things like that.”

Benny clutched his shoulders and head. “I’m sorry.” 

Gadreel felt adventurous and kissed him, finding his lips slack and impassive.

Benny moved his mouth away slightly. “Can’t do nothin’. Old man upstairs has ears like a goddamn bat.”

“Okay, whatever you need. I can keep it quiet.” 

Benny sighed and touched his face, rubbed his thumb along the underside of his bottom lip. “Could gag you.” He looked a little distant, seeming to mull it over. He licked his lips. “Just to be sure.” 

Gadreel took it upon himself to start, to take Benny’s buttons and carefully undo them, peeling his shirt down his shoulders. His partner just looked at him silently, a vague expression of befuddlement on his face. 

“How much did you drink before I got here?” Gadreel asked, pulling his arms free of his sleeves. 

Benny shrugged. “Enough, I guess… I might have fallen off the wagon a little.” The detective assessed him, one eye squinting. “Can’t fuck you on the bed. It squeaks.” 

Gadreel blushed a little. “Not sure you’re in the condition to, now.” 

His partner narrowed his brilliant blue eyes. “We’ll see about that.” 

“We’ve got time.” Gadreel didn’t want to stop touching him. He had to wonder why he hadn’t done this before as he caressed his adam’s apple and leaned in to kiss his shoulder. 

“Let me touch you, too.” 

“Sure.” Gadreel nodded.

“I mean like that.  Soft.” Benny touched his cheek. “How come you don’t like that?” 

Gadreel wished that he was the inebriated one. It would make questions like that easier to answer. “I don’t know. I just spent so much time alone… nothing more than a handshake since before high school.” 

He seemed to mull it over, absently stroking Gadreel’s short hair. “Okay. I get it.” Benny took a deep breath. “Take your clothes off.” 

He stood up and glanced at the door, just to make sure that Benny had locked it. He unbuttoned his shirt and pants, feeling slightly jumpy about being in a different place. This was why he didn’t want to move to a new apartment; he was barely settling into the place and he felt secure there. Even with the familiarity he had with Benny, even though this place might as well have his partner’s name written all over it, he felt on the spot. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

“No, what?” Gadreel put his shirt over the chair. 

“Thought you were feelin’ frisky, but you don’t look like you’re into this.” 

Gadreel sighed, pulled off his shoes and belt. “I want to be. I want to erase the last week entirely.” 

“Yeah, you ever have a day that you could just, I don’t know, do over again, and fix something…” 

Gadreel thought of Kevin Tran, and the Bar in Helena, and nodded. “Yeah, a few.”

“I keep thinking that I shoulda warned her.” 

Gadreel closed his eyes for a moment. “When I was in the service… there was a case like that. And I know that I couldn’t have known what was going to happen to the kid, but maybe I should have.” 

Benny leaned on the table and sighed. “Do you want me to ask you about it?” 

“No. He’s dead and buried.”  

Lafitte stood up and walked toward him, putting his hand on his bare shoulder and sliding it up to the back of his neck, where his fingers dug in a little, holding him still. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“Deserve what?” 

“To be hurt.” 

Gadreel’s mouth felt dry. He looked down at Benny’s shuttered face, taking a deep breath. “Maybe. Maybe I just want to make it right. Balance things out,” he whispered, unnerved.  

He pulled Gadreel down to his height, and then forced him to kneel in front of him. Benny held his head to his crotch and stroked his scalp, not at all gentle, yanking at the hair on the top of his head. It was plain as day what he wanted, and the truth was, that Gadreel wanted it, too. Even if Benny being drunk filled him with trepidation. 

He shut his eyes and mouthed him through his polyester slacks, breathed his scent in deep, feeling deliciously depraved. Perhaps his mouth was watering, but he wouldn’t admit it aloud. 

Benny groaned and unzipped against his cheek, dragging it down to his jawbone. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and steered himself out and against Gadreel’s open mouth, sliding messily sideways. Gadreel shut his eyes and raised a hand to stroke him while he laved his partner’s cock with his tongue, using his saliva to glide him through his fist. He looked up to Benny’s face over the broad expanse of his chest and groaned with his lips around the tip. 

Lafitte jerked his hair. “Shh. Rufus will hear. Ears like a goddamn bat.” 

He pulled off with a soft pop that left Benny shuddering, and kept up a steady pace with his hand. “Sorry, I just… I needed it. In my mouth.” Gadreel’s face burned. 

Benny clenched his eyes shut. “Stop.”

Gadreel shivered stilled his hand, licked his lips, and watched his partner’s face. Benny seemed to be surveying him, measuring him while he knelt on the floor gazing upward. He fidgeted. His hand dropped to his own underwear and he cradled himself, squeezing lightly. The last time he and Benny had gotten together, he had been too quick in coming, and it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

Benny breathed in deep and rolled his shoulders. He looked around his apartment. “Okay, baby. Gonna do this right.” 

Gadreel waited as Benny walked behind the partition that separated his twin bed from the rest of the apartment. Benny tossed his handcuffs onto the living room rug, and a belt, and a starched handkerchief that fluttered a bit before it came to rest next to the other things. 

“C’mere, Lieutenant.” He came around the bed and turned on the TV. 

Gadreel gulped and crawled towards him slowly. Benny watched Gadreel as he undressed, seeming to admire Milton’s already half-naked body as he threw his shirt over his kitchen chair and his belt across the couch. 

He took Gadreel by the neck and steered him to lay down on the floor, then straddled him as he rolled onto his back. Milton just bit his lip and blinked up at Benny. 

“Put your hands up above your head.”

Gadreel complied, murmuring as he looked up at his half-dressed partner. “Yes sir.” 

The cuffs looped under the leg of Benny’s couch and clicked his hands into place, obediently still. 

He wondered how he looked, gazing up at Benny—was it as worshipful as he felt, and was that why his partner had to smile knowingly and break the silence?

“Gonna blindfold you.” 

Gadreel gulped and nodded. Benny put a knot in the kerchief and slid it around his head, pulling it over his eyes. He kissed his forehead and then left him there. 

He stretched on the rug, listening to what he guessed was an episode of M.A.S.H. on the TV. If it weren’t for the cuffs around his wrists and the slight chill against his bare legs and belly, he might have been able to relax totally. As it was, the sound of a bottle opening and something rustling near him made his skin start to break out in goosebumps. 

His partner walked lightly. Gadreel could feel his heart stutter a little at the creaking sound of his medicine cabinet from the bathroom, and took a deep breath, praying that he didn’t plan to leave him out like a trussed turkey too long. 

“You’ve still got your underwear on, amigo.” Benny touched his knee and pushed it out so he could kneel between his legs. 

“Well… I don’t think I can get them off like this.”

Benny laughed softly, put his hand on Gadreel’s groin and squeezed. “I want to try something,” he spoke softly, and pulled at his underwear, pulling it down past his ass, so it bunched on his thighs.  

Gadreel felt his breath ghost across the back of his thigh and shivered. “What… what are you doing?” 

“Pull your knees up and find out.”

He obeyed, thinking that Benny would simply prep him and spread him open on a finger. But then he felt the bristly hair of his partner’s beard sliding into the cleft of his ass, and his tongue lapping against his entrance. 

He thrashed when he realized what was happening. “Benny, fuck. Don’t… What the fuck are you doing?” 

His hands gripped his hips and nibbled just beside before returning to lick him with a flat tongue against his pucker. He opened his knees a little, taking a deep shuddering breath, rolling his head on the carpet. If he could allow himself to not think about the area that Benny was licking, he could simply swim in the sensation of the soft, wiggling tickle and the man’s broad hands keeping his thighs pried open. He spun his tongue in a small circle and groaned as he pressed it at his pucker. 

“Oh, fuck, Benny, god, not there.” 

Benny pulled away, leaving him cold. It sounded like he took a sip of something. “Keep your damn voice down, Lieutenant.” 

Gadreel shivered and settled down a little. “Yes, sir.”

Benny returned to between his thighs, pushing them up, so his knees rested on his chest. For a moment, he licked at his balls and pushed a finger at his entrance, waiting for him to relax enough to let him slip inside. Then his tongue darted along next to it and massaged at the ring of muscle as he fucked it with his finger. 

He pulled back again and returned with his fingers slicked and pressed inside without further preamble or teasing, and it stung a little, but Benny went slowly once he got past the second knuckle and turned his hand a little to rub at his prostate. 

Gadreel gave up a groan as he rolled his fingertip at the spot, and Benny bit the inside of his thigh. “Do you want me to gag you?” 

Gadreel shivered. “Okay.” 

Benny slipped his fingers out slowly and put something cloth into his mouth, forcing his jaw open wide. Gadreel grunted.

“Good.” Benny slipped his fingers back in, rougher this time, slicked, but fast, and aiming to stretch him quick. He splayed his legs wide and whined softly at the burn. 

When Benny replaced his fingers with his cock, he also pushed his knees wider and held them still with both hands. He could hear his partner breathing in a quiet pause from the television and smiled a little around the gag, then squeaked when he pushed forward. It hurt, and righteously so, still well within the boundary of pain that he could  _ enjoy. _

“Fuck.” Benny murmured from somewhere on top of him, continuing the punishingly shallow thrusts until he was seated fully inside him. He thought that maybe he was getting better at taking his partner’s girth, at least better at relaxing enough to let him in fully. He ached to hear the same observation from Benny, but instead his partner touched his cock and started to stroke him in counterpoint to his thrusting, steady with the rhythm of his own hips.  

He wrapped Gadreel’s legs around his waist and Gadreel obliged him by crossing his ankles and holding on tight in any way that he could. 

Lafitte’s hands flattened on his chest and kept him from scooting up the rug as he started going at him in earnest. 

Milton kept his eyes shut, even though the blindfold was still in place, and listened to his breath hiss past the ball in his mouth. He hadn’t thought that not being able to see would help him to get out of his body. It was like swimming in the ocean, disconnected from everything but the lapping waves.  

Benny bit his chest and squeezed his cock, wrenching an orgasm out of him that made him gasp and nearly inhale his gag. His partner gave him a moment to breathe and process that his blindfold was now wet with tears, and then kept going. Gadreel felt Benny’s hand slip through his mess and rub it into his chest. 

“So goddamn pretty.” Benny groaned and snapped his hips forward a final time and sank his head down onto his collarbone. He pet Gadreel’s hair and pulled his handkerchief over his forehead. 

It seemed too bright, but the basement apartment faded to ordinary dimness. He wanted to grab Benny and hold on abruptly, try and extend the moment to something that felt like it mattered just a little more, but Benny laughed a little as he took out a sock from where it had been stuffed in Gadreel’s mouth, and tossed it aside. “There you go.” 

Gadreel smiled softly. He didn’t really want to get up off the floor, but Benny was already undoing his cuffs and helping him to get up. “Thanks.” 

“You can have first shower.” He slapped his thigh gently. 

Milton rolled to his knees, legs stiff and trembling. “Yeah, can’t you fit, too?” 

“Pretty sure not, chere, you’ll see.” He threw his clothes in the hamper. 

Gadreel wanted to pull him in there with him and insist that they try, but he shrugged it off and padded barefoot to the bathroom. The whole room was about the size of his closet, with the toilet almost under the sink right next to it. He started the water and looked for the soap, and for some reason he opened the medicine cabinet. Leaflets fell out and onto the floor and the sink, and as he frantically picked them up, Milton saw what they were. 

They were flyers for events at the bathhouses that San Francisco was so notorious for, weekend overnight parties that were advertised as Greek events.  

He put them back as if they were burning his hand. The soap was right behind the tap anyways. 

Gadreel tried not to mention it to Benny, but when he had his pajamas on and was sitting next to him on the couch, it just crawled out of his mouth. 

“How do bathhouses work, Benny?” He was slouching under his partner’s arm. 

“You go in and buy a locker key, and like… There’s small rooms and… Why are you asking anyway?”

“I saw the flyers in your bathroom.” 

“Ah. Well… it seemed like asking you to go in  _ there _ looking for the guy would just be… like throwing a sheep to the wolves, ya know?” 

“Oh.” He tried not to feel insulted, but he knew he was frowning anyway. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I didn’t want you to worry. Or try to go. Frankly, I’d probably lose you in a place like that.” 

“Lose me how?” 

“If I said it was like an all-you can eat buffet, is that enough of a picture?” 

Milton relaxed just a little. “So, you’re a little jealous?” 

“I guess. I try, but I know I’m your first, so…”

“You’re expecting me to move on?” At that, Gadreel sat upright and turned his head to look at him. 

“Well, I’m just saying I wouldn’t feel too foolish if you did. You’ll find somebody better for you, and that’s fine.” 

“Holy shit,” Gadreel murmured, then laughed a little. 

Benny scratched his head, seeming sheepishly embarrassed. “What?” 

“I thought that I was the one with the problems with self-worth.”  

His partner shrugged and gestured around his apartment. “Well, this is me, chere.” 

Gadreel leaned over and kissed his temple. “Yeah. And I’m still in love with you.” 

“You’re none too bright, Galahad.” Benny laughed. 

“Eat a dick, Lafitte.” He grinned.

\---

Gadreel jumped a little when Henriksen’s hand clamped on his shoulder—he had noticed that men liked to clap each other on the shoulder in an odd slap-grab move. He cleared his throat and fixed a smile on his face that felt entirely plastic. 

“Hey, Milton. Good times?” 

Gadreel was holding a few folders in the hallway, but wasn’t hurried. “Yeah, Sergeant.” 

“How’s your partner holdin’ up?” 

“He’s been fine.” Gadreel blinked at him. He wasn’t sure what this conversation was meant to infer, so he waited for this superior to ask it plainly. 

“What about you? Did you know Ms. Talbot?” Viktor picked an imaginary piece of lint from Gadreel’s shoulder. 

The detective shook his head and looked away. “Just saw her on the night of the stag party.” 

“Yeah, I remember her using you as a chair. Damn shame.” 

Milton nodded. “We’re looking into people she informed on that might not have been convicted.” 

“Good, good. You know, before you were partnered with Lafitte, I kinda thought he might be on his way to an early retirement.” 

He hated to listen to gossip, but he couldn’t shut down his curiosity. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, you know. He was behind on his paperwork, skipping procedures. Using his sick days as fast as he could make them. There were rumors from his time in Vice.” 

“I haven’t heard about that. I thought Homicide was a promotion.” 

“Well, that’s the way it should be. But Frisco’s had some hard years, and the clearance rates are in the toilet, so Vice seems to be the place a lot of detectives want to be.” 

“Oh. I had no idea.” 

Viktor clapped him on the shoulder again. “Right, well. Let me know if you get a suspect for Talbot. And thanks for keeping Benny out of my business.” 

“Yes, sir.” Gadreel nodded. He knew what business Henriksen was talking about—he was the one to whom the Lily LaRue case had been re-assigned. He wondered if he should have told Henriksen about the link between Bela’s case and the doodler murders, but he knew that it could mean that they might never bring her killer in. Milton had to shrug it off and retreat back to the office, and watch his partner hunch over his typewriter, pecking out a report. 

Benny didn’t look at him. It probably had something to do with his refusing to move out of his apartment. At least he had been helpful with the carpentry of re-enforcing the door frame with a piece of hardwood and steel plate—that deadbolt wouldn’t be kicked in again. 

His apartment was relatively quick to clean up, but harder to figure out what was missing. He was sure that one of his plaid shirts was gone, as well as one of the Vonnegut paperbacks. He was just grateful that he didn’t keep a gun at home like most detectives—if it had been stolen there would be no avoiding a report. But a TV and a few small things? He’d replace them within a week.

He persisted in childishly smiling at his partner until Benny finally looked up, and then his partner broke into a dumb grin that made it worthwhile. 


	16. July 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

His phone on his desk rang on Wednesday, nearly startling Gadreel into spilling coffee on his tie. He wiped his mouth and picked up the receiver. 

“This is Milton.” 

“Detective Milton?” It was a woman on the other end of the line. 

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“Good. I’m sending you a plane ticket to Leavenworth.” 

“Uh… who is this?” 

“This is Linda Tran.” 

It sank in slowly, but when it did he felt his hand start to sweat against the plastic of the receiver. “Kevin’s mother.” 

“Yes, Kevin’s mother. The parole hearing is in Kansas, and it’s on the 25th at 10 a.m.” 

“That’s ten days.” Gadreel must have looked seasick, because Benny tilted his head and raised a questioning eyebrow at him. Milton shook his head and waved him off. 

“You haven’t been exactly the most available person to get ahold of, Detective. But I need you. Kevin needs you.” 

It was such a trite line that he almost laughed, but bitter self-loathing settled in quickly and stopped him. “Ah. Did Major Novak give you this number?” 

“Please, don’t say no. They will release these men, they’ll go free by November if I don’t throw everything I have at this parole hearing.” 

He weighed the matter for a long moment. “I don’t think that I can really make much of a difference.” 

“I do. I know it won’t bring him back, but they need to be held accountable, Detective.” 

“For how long?”

She paused a little. “What do you mean?”

“How long should they be in prison? How long is appropriate?” 

“Longer than the penalty for stealing. Or for desertion. He was my _ son _ .”  

Gadreel sighed. “Okay.” 

“... you’ll come to the hearing?” 

“Yes. Please send the tickets to the station; they’ll get them to me.”

She sounded a little shocked. “Thank you.” 

“See you in a week or so.” He set down the handset and sighed, looked over at Benny. 

His partner blinked back at him. 

“I’m going to Kansas next week to testify in a parole hearing.” 

“Do you mean Montana, or is this older?” 

“Older. I doubt it’ll take more than a couple days.” 

Benny seemed to chew the information as he signed off on a report. “All right. I’ll put in a request for time off, too. Too bad it’s not somewhere more scenic.” 

Gadreel blinked at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m gonna try to go with you. Make a vacation out of it.” 

Gadreel was too stunned to reply, but he knew he was smiling again. 

\---  

When he dropped off his request for time, it was at the basement of the building where the secretary pool was located. 

Henry’s office was being boxed up, and the artist himself was conspicuously absent. Gadreel looked around and sauntered in amongst the janitors. 

“Where did Henry go?” Gadreel asked, and the man shrugged, bushy mustache mimicking his shoulders. 

“He died. Mr. Winchester was very old. He was all set to retire.” The janitor stacked the white, sterile boxes as his companion loaded things from the shelf. 

Gadreel sighed. “That’s a shame.” He had wanted to ask him about the sketch of Sam, and why he’d made it as ugly as he had. He looked around the small, cramped room, noticing the singular, tight-framed window, and imagined spending long enough to retire in this underground, secluded spot. 

It wasn’t a comforting thought. He looked down to the bare carpet and saw that he was standing on a photograph—bent to pick it up. 

Sam Campbell’s smiling face looked back at him, next to another young man in a slightly disheveled Marine corps uniform. 

Gadreel didn’t even mull it over, just slipped the photo into his pocket as quickly as he was able. “When’s the funeral?” He asked and cleared his throat nervously. 

“No idea. Ask around upstairs.” 

Detective Milton nodded. “Thank you.” 

He stepped back out into the hallway, and paused to take a breath. Victor came down the stairs and smiled tensely at him, then passed by without anything more than a jerky nod. 

Gadreel followed, thinking that he would discuss his leave with him before dropping it at the office. 

Victor turned and opened the door to the developing room of the photo lab, and then saw him standing right there behind him. “Oh, Milton.” He sighed. “Come in. This concerns you, too.” 

Gadreel stepped in after him and closed the door. Henriksen handed him a stack of photos, full pages zoomed in of street scenes. He noticed right away that they were of his partner, looking a little out of place among the more flamboyant gay men standing on the sidewalk. Lafitte appeared to be smiling behind one of his cigars. 

“What… what’s this about?” 

“This place was under surveillance for a solicitation bust and Lafitte popped up. Is your partner running a sting operation to try to catch a suspect?” 

Gadreel gulped and shook his head. “No, sir.” His heart was palpitating and he prayed he looked confused, instead of frightened out of his goddamn wits. “I have no idea why he’d be there.” 

“All right. Listen. No need to bring it up with him. It’s not an internal affairs investigation, we’ll keep it quiet. You should, too; could hurt your career.” 

Gadreel believed him about the last part. “Yes, sir.” He handed the photographs back to Victor and backed out of the lab. 

\---

Their office seemed small and claustrophobic, and for the first time, he considered climbing up to the roof just to escape, even though Benny wasn't up there for company. People walking through the hallway slipped past the window in the door and startled him every time, so he could scarcely focus on the paragraphs of testimony in front of him. He grit his teeth and started cleaning and stacking papers instead of actual work, hoping that his heart and stomach would settle back to where they were supposed to be. 

Benny opened the door and hung his hat up on top of the coatrack before it closed behind him. “Hey, Galahad. Did you take your lunch?” 

“In a bit, Benny.” He put his hands flat on his desk, debating what he would tell him first, thoughts roiling. “I went downstairs.” 

“…you all right?” Benny seemed to understand that Gadreel was conflicted. 

“I ran into Henriksen, and he made me promise not to say anything to you about it, but there were photos of you, standing on the street. They were planning a bust.” 

“…what? Did he say when?” 

“No. Maybe recent. Just…you need to stop going out.”

Benny took a deep breath and nodded. “Are you jealous?” 

“No, that’s not… that’s not what this is about.” Gadreel took a deep breath. “Henry’s dead.” 

“Henry who? Winchester?” Benny sat down in his chair heavily. “Shit.” 

He nodded and pulled out the photo from his pocket. “They were cleaning out his office. I don’t know what happened, but I… there was a picture of Sam in his office and I took it.” 

Benny blinked a few times. “You took what?” 

“A picture of Sam Campbell.” He looked down at the small picture and shrugged. “Maybe he went to Stanford? Lot of pressure to succeed, I bet.” 

Benny was out of his chair and across his desk. “Let me get a look.”

Gadreel handed it over and watched Benny’s face become curiously blank, eyes traveling over the picture again and again. His partner was so still that it very quickly became apparent that something was wrong. “What is it?” Gadreel asked. 

Benny took a deep breath. “It’s W…Winchester. Dean fuckin’ Winchester, my God.” 

He was confused a little. “The man next to Sam?” 

Benny nodded, looking away as he shoved the photo back at Milton and went to lean heavy on his desk. “Henry was a relative. Maybe his grandpa.” He wiped his face. “Fuck.” 

“You knew him?” He knew his question was silly, because the answer was already obvious.

His partner went to sit down and nearly missed the chair, finally settled down and nodded. “Yeah. He was in my platoon. We… birds of a queer feather, y’know?” 

“No, but… Then he knew Sam.” 

“Yeah, yeah. He had a brother Sam, enrolled at Stanford three weeks before he… I never thought… I’ve never seen his picture.” 

Gadreel looked at the photo on his desk and then at his partner, who looked utterly  hollowed out. At least he could hazard a guess as to why Sam was targeting his partner. “I’m sorry, Benny.” 

He rubbed his forehead and groaned. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick. Dean wouldn’t—his brother was supposed to go to Stanford. He was so fucking proud.” 

He wanted to cross the room and hug him. This was far more of a reaction than when they’d recognized Bela, and his partner’s visible trembling was deeply frightening. 

At the worst possible moment, when Gadreel was halfway out of his chair, Zachariah strode into their office. Milton nearly startled out of his skin and Benny jerked in his chair, pulled out his kerchief, and started to wipe his eyes with it. 

“Everything all right in here, boys?” 

Gadreel slid a file on top of the photo. “Sorry, sir. I just gave Lafitte some news and it hit a little hard.” 

Benny looked at him like he had grown another head, but then shook it off. “Yeah, I, uh… Henry died?” 

“Yeah, it’s a damn shame. He was close to retiring. Been with the department since the fifties.” Zach crossed his arms. “Didn’t realize you were close.” 

Benny nodded and blew his nose. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“I never saw you two talk.” Zachariah raised an eyebrow. 

Gadreel made an educated guess. “He served with his grandson.”  

“Oh. Oh. I see. Well, then. Department briefing tomorrow morning; I was going to break the news about Henry then.” 

“Will there be funeral arrangements?” Milton asked his uncle. It still seemed like Benny was barely capable of speaking on his own behalf. 

“I assume so. Haven’t heard of any yet, but I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop, Lafitte.” 

Benny nodded, stunned. Zachariah left quietly, with a soft close of their door. 

Gadreel walked over, knelt, and hugged him. “Go home for the rest of the day.”

Benny shut his eyes tight and hung on to his shoulders, allowing himself a shaky breath before he pulled away. “I’m okay.” 

“Yeah?” Gadreel stood up and stepped back, smoothing his shirt. “Do you really want to stay?” 

“No, but I honestly don’t think I’m good to drive right now.” Benny settled down in his chair and leaned on the desk. 

“…Let me drive you home.” 

“You really want to?” 

“Yeah, I’ll just take an early lunch.” Gadreel smiled. “And you’ll work on locking your place down and figure out our plan.” 

“Think Sam will go the funeral?” He stood up and put on his coat. 

“No idea, but we should know before we go to Kansas.” Gadreel held the door open and let Benny go in front of him, taking the keys as his partner dropped them into his hand.  

He hadn’t thought that this, of all things, would seem incredibly romantic. He was a hesitant and careful driver, taking the turns slowly and earning a honk when he turned slowly into the driveway beside Benny’s basement apartment. It had been years since he’d last driven a car. 

Benny let him hold him for a half-minute in the cab of the pickup, taking deep breaths through his nose under the curve of Gadreel’s jaw. 

He slid out of the pickup with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

\---

Gadreel took the bus home. He knew that if he took the bus back to the office, it would only be an hour or maybe a little more before it was time for him to head right back out the door. He stopped at the bookstore and bought a used paperback of short stories, and then bought groceries. 

He looked fondly at the unpainted wood around the door, the fresh nails that held the moulding in. Benny had acted like it was entirely too complicated for him, and then measured and cut the pieces by hand as though it was the simplest task possible. 

He set the groceries down on the counter, and kicked off his shoes before taking off his belt and gun and looping them both over a chair. Gadreel thought about listening to a radio show later in the evening, but knew he’d probably end up listening to an E.L.O. album while reading a little more of the Heinlein novel  _ Methuselah’s Children _ . 

He opened the refrigerator to put the meat and milk away, catching sight of the vague blur of a silhouette before it slammed Gadreel back into the oven door. A brief scuffle, and he was rolled him down underneath his weight, resting his forearm over his throat. Sam was uncomfortably close, breath hot against his face.

Gadreel grabbed his shirt, trying to twist out from underneath him, and Sam simply leaned forward, quizzical smile revealing all of his teeth, pushing down on his windpipe until the detective could feel the air whistle as he struggled to breathe. 

Sam just smiled, eyes sparkling. “Hi.”  


	17. July 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

He woke up on the kitchen floor with a start. His own handcuffs were around his wrists, and Sam had propped him up with his back against the cabinet doors. Just to his left, there was the drawer that contained most of his cutlery, but it might as well have been across the apartment. 

Gadreel’s lip was swollen, and he was pretty sure that his back was bruised. If he was very lucky, that might be all Sam would do to him if he could just get him to talk.

He turned away from Gadreel for a moment and produced a pad of paper from a bag, as well as a pencil and a long bowie knife with a serrated spine. 

The detective glanced at it, gathered some courage, and cleared his throat. “How did you get in?” 

“Found your spare key in your file cabinet. Quiet now.” Sam crawled towards him with the knife in his hand and slowly, painstakingly, cut a line up his left pant leg. 

Gadreel said nothing, skin crawling as though it would peel away at the touch of Sam’s hand. When he progressed higher, Gadreel tried not to twitch with the steel pressed against the inside of his thigh, ripping through the fabric with a soft tearing noise. It was so sharp that there was scarcely any resistance, and if the man in front of him so much as flicked his wrist, he could slice an artery in a second. 

Sam peeled him out of his pants, head tilting at the sight of all the exposed flesh. He licked his lips and smiled again. Gadreel felt like it was supposed to be a seductive smirk, but he just felt like dinner. Sam snipped through the elastic of his underwear while holding his tongue between his teeth in concentration. 

Gadreel’s thighs were urged open, and he shut his eyes, trembling as Sam leaned in close, starting to cut his shirt away, close enough to radiate body heat. 

When Sam pulled back, Gadreel was both naked and unspeakably relieved. 

“When we’re done here, I’ll let you call Benny. Would you like that?” 

He felt a hysterical sob trying to rise out of his chest and swallowed stubbornly, nodding. 

“Good. Open your legs.” Sam leered, dragging them wide, and when Gadreel resisted, Sam poked his knife into his calf, a quick jab just to remind him of what he could do.

Gadreel squeaked and opened his legs, heels sliding until one ankle hit the cabinet. 

Sam sat back, casually wiping his knife on his leg, and considered the aesthetic of the scene before him. “You have to know, I could do anything to you that I wanted to.” He reached out and palmed Gadreel’s jaw, tilting his head for him. “And there's nothing you can do about it.”

The detective bit his lip and blinked back tears. Sam wiped them for him, tender as his thumbs swiped over his eyelid.

“But all I want from you right now is a little peace and quiet, and stillness. Can you do that for me, Gadreel?”

“This isn’t… this isn’t what Dean would want, Sam.” 

He broke into raucous laughter so abruptly that Gadreel jerked and rattled the handcuffs on the floor and cabinet.

He dropped his hand to Gadreel’s groin and squeezed and twisted, raking him with so much pain that he saw white around the edges of his vision. A sob broke out of him. 

“Peace, and quiet, and stillness,” Sam repeated, then let him go.

Gadreel took a few gasping breaths and shut his eyes, nodding. He trembled when he was touched, allowing his right knee to be pushed to the floor, leg bent and ankle folded under his other thigh. His punctured calf ached and blood was dripping down under his heel. Sam tilted his head again and touched his lips with his thumb before scooting back along the floor. 

Sam was wearing one of his stolen shirts, he realized as soon as he opened his eyes. Perhaps those were his trousers, too. He almost forgot that he wasn’t supposed to make any noise or move, but his brain picked at it, wondering why Sam would do such thing. 

Mostly, he worried about what Sam was going to do once he finished his drawing. The pencil scratched across the paper in his hand, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the drawing and his subject; Gadreel prayed that Benny would call, or that maybe his partner would just come over with pizza. He’d settle for a fire in the neighboring condo if it kept Sam at bay. 

Gadreel could hear his sink dripping, and it echoed in the apartment, which now seemed cold and too big, full of deep shadows as the light from the windows went orange with the setting sun. His right leg, folded and sitting flat on the floor, started to tingle and then went numb. His shoulder began to ache. 

Sam changed pages and it startled Gadreel, but he didn’t move enough for Sam to notice. He looked down at the congealing blood on his calf—it was starting to dry, and he wondered if Sam would keep him there all night. He had never wanted his phone to ring more in his entire life. 

He hadn’t thought it was possible to get hungry while he was being threatened with being stabbed, raped, and butchered. But he was freezing, his muscles felt locked, and his stomach ached from being empty. He couldn’t wait for this to be over.

He quickly regretted that thought as Sam put down his pencil and turned the sketchbook around to show him, now feeling himself under such laser-sharp scrutiny. Gadreel still didn’t move or say anything, instead just waiting until Sam would do… whatever came next. 

“Do you like it?”

He had barely looked at the drawing, really. It was a good likeness, he supposed. Sam hadn’t included the blood, and of course his hands behind his back didn’t show, so it almost looked as though he was relaxed—if one didn’t examine the expression on his face too closely. 

“It’s amazing,” Gadreel said, and it was true. It also filled him with a nameless dread. 

“Would you like to call Benny now?” 

Gadreel nodded, feeling an ache in his throat. He swallowed it down. He wasn’t going to cry now. “Yes.” 

“Crawl over here, then.” 

He tucked away the drawing pad and waited as Gadreel twisted on the floor and got his knees under him, then shuffled closer, near to the phone nook. Sam still had the knife in his hand, and stood over him, looking down imperiously, seeming a little detached. He passed his hand through Gadreel’s hair and pulled him up by the short ends that he could just barely grip between his knuckles. 

For a moment, he thought that Sam would unzip his fly and force him to suck him down, and the weird spark of lust and panic made a tide of self-loathing shiver up his spine. His mouth watered—Gadreel wasn’t sure whether it was because he was about to vomit, or because some part of him was revoltingly turned on. 

If only it was Benny.

Sam’s lips quirked. “Are you getting hard from this?” 

Gadreel shut his eyes, wanting to disappear. Sam chortled and let his hair go to dial the phone. 

He surprised Gadreel by putting the receiver by his head, without giving any instructions. It rang.

Benny picked it up. “Hello?” 

Gadreel gulped and looked up at Sam, took a breath, and shut his eyes tight. “Benny, it’s me.” 

“Hey, hi. How you doing?”

Gadreel stammered as the flat of Sam’s blade pressed against his cheek. “N… not great, actually.”  

“Rough day after I left, or—” 

“He’s here. Sam’s here.” He gulped and looked up at Sam, watched him toss his head and his shake his long hair back over his ear.

“What? Did he call you?” 

He could feel a spark of anger on the tip of his tongue. “Benjamin. Don’t come. I’m the bait.”  

Sam laughed. Benny made a sound on the other end of the line, something primal that didn’t quite translate over the phone.

Gadreel sighed, shutting his eyes again. “I’m sorry, Benny. I wanted to talk to you one last time.”

Sam jerked the knife over his nose and sliced him across the bridge, then took the phone away from his ear as he yelped. “Stay down.” He took his time in bringing the receiver to his own ear. The wound on Gadreel’s face stung and bled down his lips and chin, dripping on his thighs. 

“Benny?” Sam smiled as he looked down at Gadreel. “Yes, yes. You’re probably going to miss it. I’d give us… ten minutes, maybe. If he’s a very good boy it might be fifteen.” 

Benny’s roaring went mute when Sam dropped the phone back on the cradle. 

Gadreel started to scoot back on his knees, and Sam watched him corner himself in the kitchen again, casually unbuttoning his shirt. “This was Dean’s knife, you know.” 

He could barely think past his fear, but he recognized an opportunity when he saw one. “I didn’t know.” 

“You know about Dean, don’t you?” 

“I… a little. I knew Henry.” He watched and gulped as Sam knelt and crawled through the streaks of blood on the floor to get close to him. 

“Henry didn’t talk about us. He knew better.” Sam ran his hand up his thigh and cupped Gadreel, but this time he didn’t dig in and twist, just watched him squirm as he applied gentle pressure. 

“Don’t. Don’t, please.” Gadreel tried to scoot back. 

“Don’t beg, it’s unbecoming. You’re so pretty. It’s a shame that you’re a cop, such a damn waste.” 

Milton shut his eyes tight, trying to not feel what Sam was doing. Hell, he would settle for not feeling anything for the next ten or fifteen minutes. He impulsively slammed his head back against the cabinet in a bid to knock himself into unconsciousness. 

Sam tutted him. “Most of them let me make it good, you know.” He shrugged, flipped his hair with a nod of his head, and pulled him down under him. 

He felt the knife dart in quick under his arm, but for a moment it was just cold. It didn’t hurt until air slipped into the cut and instantly sizzled with sudden pain. He had no way of knowing how deep it was, but he knew that there was an artery running near the inside of his elbow, and if Sam had nicked it, he’d be dead in under two minutes. 

Sam cut him again, but this time turned the knife and really dug in along his bicep. 

Gadreel gave up a cry and kicked at him, ignoring how that made it hurt that much worse. He couldn’t  _ not _ fight him; he wasn’t just a creature for Sam to dissect—he had to insist with his whole being that he wasn’t going to die easily.  

“Shh, just look at me. Can you do that?” He was speaking gently, soft, persuasive while the edge worked into the muscle.

Gadreel was shaking. “I can’t.”

Sam sat back across his thighs and shrugged. “Take your time.”

He eventually looked up at him, thinking of a cat playing with an already wounded mouse. Gadreel was going to die here on the floor, being toyed with by this single-fanged monster. His back felt wet and warm. 

“Benny is… responsible for my brother’s death.”

“No, Dean was his friend, he’d never hurt him.” 

“I didn’t say he hurt him, I said he was  _ responsible. _ Do you know what that means?” 

Gadreel gulped and nodded hesitantly. Sam ran his hand down his left side, the part of him that was still clean of slick, red blood. 

“He didn’t kill my brother, but he didn’t save him, either. Just left his body in the fucking mud.” Sam’s fingers curled against Gadreel’s hip, nails gouging along his buttocks. Perhaps the first time that Sam had ever looked angry in front of him. 

Gadreel grimaced. This was the worst possible time to think about Kevin, and what kind of responsibility he shared in that. “Don’t… don’t you think he tried?” 

Sam sliced his knife quick up Gadreel’s chest, cutting so deep that the knife got stuck in his collarbone. He twisted it free with a jerk that moved Milton’s whole body, and the detective screamed. Loudly. 

“Not good enough,” Sam growled, wiped his hand clean on his shirt, and waited, watching what poured from the new cut. “He called Dean his brother, but he wasn’t.” 

Gadreel shuddered and sobbed on the floor, wanting to cover the wound, wondering if he’d carved down to the bone or gone through. 

“Do you have any brothers?” 

Gadreel had to think hard, though it should have been an easy answer. “N-no, Sam.” 

“Then you wouldn’t understand.” He shrugged and looked away. 

“I have a sister.” He gulped, imagined what sort of mess she’d have to clean up this time, and took a heaving breath. “She’s… she’s always understood me.” It wasn’t precisely true, but he knew that she would if he had ever called her. 

Sam licked his lips. “But that’s n… hey, is that clock right? Time flies.” The man on top of him shrugged, reversed the blade, and plunged it into Gadreel’s belly, just left of his navel. 

He would have screamed, but all the air had been punched out of him. Gadreel didn’t know if he’d been stabbed through all the way, if the knife was pinning him to the floor. 

But then Sam twisted it and pulled it out as he stood up. 

Gadreel was left alone, panting, trying to curl in on the wound, to stop the bleeding and blinding pain. 

He managed to get onto his side, but pulling his knees any closer drew an agony out of his body that he could hardly process, and it just got worse the more he tried. 

He cried with soft sobs as he bled out on the floor. He had hoped that he would hear Benny’s pickup rattle to a stop outside, but as he faded out, he didn’t hear a thing over Sam’s humming.  

\---

A bang woke Gadreel, and he wished it hadn’t for a split second, when all he could feel was his burning guts—he had a chill over his whole body that made him shiver. He could hear a fight happening, Benny shouting things that barely made sense, and then a gunshot, followed by five more in rapid succession. 

It was finally silent in his condo. Gadreel shut his eyes and panted shallowly, knowing that he was making noises with his breathing that weren't at all voluntary. 

Benny’s shoe squeaked as he rounded the counter. “Fuck! Shit, oh my God.” He plopped into his field of vision and put his hand on his chest, then withdrew to remove his peacoat. 

“I can’t…” Gadreel gasped.

“Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry. Stay with me.” Benny knelt over him and put his coat on his abdomen, pressing on the wound in his stomach. 

Gadreel knew he was screaming. He could hear it, and he knew he was incoherent, but couldn’t stop himself or stop kicking his legs. The faint sound of sirens chased him down into blackness. 


	18. July 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San Francisco, California.

Gadreel woke up choking and heard some distant satellite beeping to his left, but he was uncoordinated and weightless, and couldn’t seem to make his arm go high enough to touch the source of the sound. It was just so much easier to sleep. 

When he woke fully, he looked at the ceiling for a long, long while, remembering half-imagined nightmares and a strange dream of a secret love affair with a detective who smoked cigars on a rooftop. A sweet thought, really, and curiously not at all distressing. He still felt like he was floating in the bed, and when he closed his eyes for longer than just for a moment, it felt as though he was spinning, and nothing hurt. 

His bandages seemed to have changed places—they were mostly on his left arm and his chest. He thought maybe the window’s curtains were different, but he really couldn’t focus on them enough to care. 

A nurse came in, dark skin contrasting with her bleached uniform’s pallor. “Well, good morning,” she gave him a smile that he found himself returning. “How are we feeling today, Mr. Milton?” 

“My car’s totaled, isn’t it?” 

She binked several times, but then picked up his IV bag and started to change it. “Oh, no need for you to worry just now, you just need to rest.” 

He puzzled over her reaction as she left the room, but then his bed started to feel a little less firm under him and the faint ache he’d been feeling melted away. Everything felt so pleasant.

Gadreel watched as a few doctors came in and had conversations with each other while discussing the condition of whatever was under the bandage on his stomach. He was having a problem remembering what they’d done to him, why they would be discussing how the bleeding had stopped. It was confusing, and they didn’t seem interested in his questions, but just politely nodded and gave him a thumbs-up as they went back to discussing his injuries. He was able to work out that he’d had a foot of intestine and his pancreas removed. They also mentioned that he had gone “Code Blue” two times and had to have his heart restarted.

Gadreel wasn’t quite able to process what that meant. They left the room and suddenly the light outside looked like the orange of sunset. 

Zachariah was in the room, standing over his bed, frowning. 

Gadreel blinked and licked his dry, chapped lips. “Hey, Uncle Zach.” He slowly came to the realization that he wasn’t in Montana. And then he remembered the rest of the past three years. 

His expression must have told quite a story, because Zachariah shrugged. “Well, I see you’ve got a handle on this.” 

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Where is Benny?” 

“You mean your boyfriend?” he sneered. “The one you’ve been covering for?” 

“I… I…” He licked his lips and avoided his eyes. “No, that’s not right.”

“You decided that you two were going to keep carrying on after I  **_ordered_ ** you to stop. You were directly insubordinate. And then you  _ entrap _ a man in your home and have your partner attack him.”

“No, that’s not what happened at all.”  

“Really? What kind of possible defense could you have, you dishonest, conniving, low little faggot?!”

Gadreel was stunned into silence, mouth opening and closing as he worked on a retort that didn’t come. 

“Excuse me, you need to leave.” The door opened and a uniformed officer stood in it. He managed to project enough authority in just six words that Zachariah looked chastised. 

Gadreel took a deep breath and grimaced from the pain. It felt like just the tip of the iceberg was emerging from under the morphine. He needed more of it. He looked at the man in the doorway and then away. He had no idea who the hell this was, and why they were in an army uniform, but he suspected they were going to tell him where he was going to be stationed. 

Zachariah cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be back with the family.” He had to awkwardly walk past the officer, who didn’t give him enough space to get past him without turning sideways. 

Once his uncle had gone through the doorway, the officer, who Gadreel now realized had the laurel crown-crossed sword and arrow insignia of a Jag uniform, slowly closed it and paced a little, adjusting his buttons self-consciously. “Are you feeling all right?”  

Gadreel managed to raise his hand and gesture to his intravenous drip. “I can’t really tell, sir.” 

“Yeah, looks like it.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t remember you.” 

The man laughed. “That’s just fine. We’ve actually never met in person.”

He knew that Zachariah had just been in the room, and that the confrontation had been very unpleasant, and something awful was his fault. “Are you here to arrest me?” 

“No, no. I’m Cas Novak. I came because I heard about why you didn’t come to testify in Kansas.” 

“But that’s next week.” He blinked to try to clear the fog out of his head. He was vaguely embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized Novak from his voice.

“No, sorry, you missed it. You were unconscious for a long time, I understand they didn’t think you’d make it when you arrived.” 

He had a horrible thought, that he had been lying in the bed for years and was shriveled and ancient. Gadreel looked down at his body and groaned shallowly, lifting his right hand despite the needle on the inside of his elbow, which he glared at.

“I think they’ve lessened the dose of morphine.”

“Yeah, but it… why are you here?”

Novak sighed heavily. “I thought I would come see what stopped you from coming to Kansas for the hearing at Leavenworth.” 

The memory of Kevin’s file slid back into place in his head. “Oh. God.” He had a vivid memory of the boy lying in the hospital cot. “He died.”    

“Sorry. Don’t… I shouldn’t have brought it up. Just rest, Milton.” Castiel stood over him and moved the blanket to cover the bandages over his chest.

He looked at his uniform, but didn’t talk about how he still had his own at home hanging in his closet. He wondered if Benny had his. “Benny? Has Benny been by?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.” Cas tilted his head while he watched Gadreel think. 

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” He felt like he should thank him. 

Novak sat down next to his bed. “Yeah, it’s no trouble. Are you and your partner on good terms?” 

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying.” Gadreel croaked, blinking groggily. 

“I just wonder how he’s been. I met him in the war.” 

“Yeah, I was there, too.” He shifted his arm, and immediately remembered not to do that when he felt the bandage near his armpit pull at his skin with tape. 

Novak laughed softly. “It’s a shame you left. I could have used someone with your experience.” 

“I’m not enlisting again.” 

“I know.” He settled into the chair and a little time passed with Novak watching the sunset, and Gadreel staring at the foot of his bed. 

“Is Benny okay?” He could remember bits of the fight in his home, remembered the gunshot and talking to him on the phone.

Castiel shrugged and nodded. “He’s suspended. It’s not your fault.”

“But… he didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Well… you don’t need to worry about this now.”

He took a deep breath, which hurt a little, pulling at the sutures under his bandages. There was no way in hell he was going to stop worrying about Benny now. Maybe Castiel could sense that. 

He adjusted his hat where it rested on his knee. “Benny and his squad pulled me out of a downed Huey near the border of Cambodia. They’d been looking for me for four days, and I was in pretty bad shape.” 

Gadreel licked his lips. “What were you doing flying?”

“Oh. I started as a reconnaissance pilot. After that, the brass decided I should retrain.”    

“That bad, huh?” 

“I was so dehydrated I was hallucinating. Never could see well out of my left eye, either, even after the infection cleared up.” Novak shrugged. 

Gadreel interrupted him. “I need to talk to him on the phone. Can I use the phone?” 

“I don’t think they’ll allow the two of you to talk before they have your statement.”

Well,  _ that _ certainly didn’t help Gadreel’s stress level. He clenched his hands in the blankets. “I think… I think they might try to fire me.”

“Well, sure. But you can always quit.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to find another job as a detective this time.” 

“You can stop being anything, Milton.” 

Gadreel gulped and answered quietly. “Not always.” 

Cas didn’t reply to that. After a few minutes, the detective found himself slipping into unconsciousness, and just let himself close his eyes.

\---

He could faintly remember someone waking him up to feed him something tasteless and liquid, but he wasn’t sure how much he’d slept before and after that. 

It was bright in the morning and his sister was in his room, standing at the window, looking outside and holding her purse to her chest. 

“Anna.” Gadreel managed a smile before the pain kicked him in the gut. He grimaced a little, then concentrated on relaxing his face so she couldn’t see. 

She looked surprised, and then unspeakably relieved. “Hey, how are you feeling?” 

“Pretty good,” he lied. “Are Mom and Dad with you?” 

“No. No, I don’t think they’ll come. Dad might want to… but…” she shrugged. 

He understood. Their father had trouble seeing beyond the bottom of his bottle. He wrote a novel every year, and had them edited down to pale little dime-store imitations of his original ideas, and received very small but regular royalty checks. 

Their mother, on the other hand… her non-appearance was a statement. “I’m being disowned, aren’t I?” 

It was Anna’s turn to grimace. “Looks like. I mean, it’s… going to take a while and Mom’s angry right now, so maybe she’ll cool off before she does anything drastic.” 

Gadreel shrugged despite the pain and considerable effort. “It’s fine. I know she won’t come around this time.” 

“Yeah. Uncle Zach probably told her everything he told me, and… Gadreel, I always knew you were different, but I just—I never thought about it much.” 

“Yeah, well… I’m a homosexual.” 

The information seemed to take a moment to sink in, and Anna nodded several times, lips a thin line. “Okay. That’s okay.” 

“Thanks for not yelling at me.”

She laughed and wiped tears from her eyes. “Yeah, I won’t.”  

“Are you staying in town?”

She nodded, flicking her hair back over her shoulder with a habitual gesture that he hadn’t even realized he had missed. 

“You’re not staying with Uncle Zach, are you?” 

“No, I found a motel that was only twelve dollars a night. I guess that’s a deal here.” She smirked. 

“You should stay at my place. Except… well, there’s a mess.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Do you need me to clean this place out?”

He gulped and looked away, embarrassed that he was doing this to her again. “The rent is paid until September. I’ll… I don’t know what I’m going to do after that.” 

“Well, you’ll get back to it… maybe you’ll be a cop somewhere else.” 

He wanted to laugh, but it wouldn’t quite erupt out of his mouth. She looked so hopeful at times, and it made destroying her expectations difficult. “Yeah, sure.” 

Benny opened the door and closed it quickly behind him, his beard looking unkempt and his collar wrinkled. He had his hat drawn down low over his eyes, and when he saw Anna, he froze.

Gadreel’s hands bunched in the blankets. He had to take a moment to settle, and make sure his surprise at seeing Lafitte wouldn’t make him act rashly. “Benny. Hey, hi. This is my sister, Anna.” 

He took off his hat. “Hi, nice to meet you.” 

“Hi.” She bobbed her head with an expression that Gadreel knew meant that she was a little mollified.

They shook hands awkwardly. “Listen, I still need to eat something for breakfast, Gad. I’ll see you later.” 

Benny opened the door for her, and as she left, Gadreel realized that she hadn’t even touched his hand. He didn’t know if he had expected a hug, but it still hurt. 

The door closed with a soft click behind her. Benny touched the handle, then walked close and grabbed Gadreel’s hand, gulped, and leaned in close to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smelled faintly of whiskey.

“Benny, you’re trembling.” 

Benny bowed his head near Gadreel’s shoulder. “God, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s going to be fine.” He found his eyes watering. “Don’t cry or I’ll cry.” 

“Oh, too late, cheré,” Benny choked on a wet laugh. 

Gadreel laughed a little, too, not sure if it was the morphine or his partner’s contagious emotions. “I’m sorry, too.” 

“No, no, you’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.” Benny stroked his head with his hand and then wiped his eyes with his hanky, and Gadreel’s too. “I’m… probably going to lose my job. Internal Affairs is having a field day. Zachariah is looking for my head on a plate.” 

“But you’re okay. He didn’t get you.” 

Benny shook his head. “Nope. Cut my jacket up, though.” 

“What happened?” He was still cloudy about everything after he passed out. 

“I shot him. I emptied my gun. You were making this noise, and… there was blood all over the both of you.” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll get through this. You’ll be back on the force in no time. Maybe not in Homicide, and maybe not as partners…”

“Benny. I don’t want to go back. I’m done.” 

“No, we’ve got a case to fight this. Sam Winchester murdered probably more than sixteen people. And then he tried to kill you.” 

“I know. But I can’t hide anymore.” 

Benny scoffed. “Hide? Who said anything about hiding?” 

“We can’t be out and on the force. Any force. Anywhere.” Gadreel sighed. 

Benny leaned back. “Who said anything about being out? I’m just gonna make sure we still have jobs.” 

“Benny, I’m going to quit.” 

“You can’t.” He looked appalled, then hid his face behind his hands, refusing to look at Gadreel. 

“Benny, I know you can’t see a way out of this.” 

His partner shook his hand. “I can’t see myself working without you there. Even if they bust me down to patrol.” 

“Benny, you can stop being a cop,” Gadreel pleaded.

Lafitte ignored his comment; stood and put his hand on Gadreel’s arm. “I’m gonna get going.” 

“Don’t… don’t leave now, stay for a while.” Milton grabbed at him, found his sleeve, and hung on. He didn’t like the feeling that Benny was leaving and not coming back.

“Cheré, don’t tell anyone I was here. We’re not supposed to be talking.”  

Gadreel was alarmed. “Are you serious?”

“Sorry, baby. Adios.” He perched his hat on top of his head, and left quietly, closing the door gently behind himself.  


	19. July 1978

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aptos, California.

Gadreel was alone.

 

The surfing was the very best that California had to offer. His place was small, but he’d managed to put together a down payment and he could see a slice of the ocean between the alarmingly tall trees. He was in Aptos, just south of Santa Cruz and north of the Monterey Bay.

He made his decision to stay while standing on a permanently moored barge that extended into the surf, surrounded by fishermen and hungry gulls. The S.S. Palo Alto had once been built for the first World War, but now it was a pier that children used to dive off into the waves. It seemed somehow fitting.

It wasn’t as though his house was a palace; his ceiling had started leaking rainwater over the kitchen sink within a month of moving in, and he’d ended up having to have a whole new roof installed.

Because of Benny, or perhaps because he missed him, he had picked up braided rugs and put them in every room. Late at night Gadreel would sometimes wake up in bed and roll down onto the floor where he could lay on top of one and think about what Benny had smelled like.

He hoped that the man had kept his job, but he honestly had no idea. Gadreel had tried calling his place, once, only to find that the number had been disconnected—and he knew better than to try to call him at his SFPD desk. The switchboard had asked him to leave a message—Detective Lafitte was always unavailable—maybe on leave, maybe long gone. They wouldn't tell him much of anything, and he wouldn't give his name. He had to accept that the future in front of him would be absent of a certain cajun ex-marine.

Gadreel had adopted a brown lab mix that he'd named Wookie, and bought a surfboard. When his side and legs felt tight from the enduring nerve damage, he would walk down the stairs to the beach and get into the water, with Wookie trailing after him and sitting next to his shoes on the sand.  

He started out at sunrise, found a few nice breaks where the waves carried him a while, and when he was done, he sat and let Wookie lick his face until the dog was satisfied. They trudged back together. By the time he reached his doorstep, his skin was dry and crusted with salt. He showered while his dog napped on the bed. Gadreel kept meaning to train him out of the habit, and make him sleep on the floor instead, but he just couldn't deny that he liked the company.

He worried over the fact that he would have to start making money in the next year. His savings were substantial, but weren’t infinite, and he didn’t know how to do much else besides being a cop of one kind or another. He made himself some cereal and looked at the wanted section of the paper.

A knock startled his dog out of his nap, and Wookie got up to bark at the door menacingly. Gadreel had never had a visitor that wasn’t a plumber or a furniture delivery. Even Anna, who was only a couple hours north, had never come by. He put Wookie into his bedroom and shut the door before answering.

Gadreel almost didn't recognize the man in front of him, without his uniform. Cas Novak smiled serenely and extended his hand. “Mr. Milton. Hello.”

“Wow. Um. Novak, right? Was it Captain?” Gadreel shook his hand. “Come in, please.”

“Not anymore. Just Cas is fine.” He stepped inside, khaki coat folded over his arm. He looked at the door to the bedroom where Wookie was whining to be let out.

“Wow. So, you retired?”

Novak shook his head. “I take the California Bar exam in a couple of months.”

Gadreel started brewing a fresh pot of coffee, nervous about why he’d visited and anxious about how to broach the subject. He had looked in every San Francisco newspaper for anything about the case, but came up empty. There hadn’t been an obituary for Sam Winchester, or Campbell… but on the other hand, there hadn’t been an obituary for Benny, either. 

He waited for the other shoe to drop while the kettle boiled.

“Are you keeping busy?”

“Yeah, well… I have a dog. And I learned to surf.”

“Really? How did that happen?”

Gadreel shrugged, feigning a casual “It was something to do, and I found my board at a yard sale for five bucks.” He looked at the window, watching the waves. “I’m not good, but falling off isn’t a big deal out there.”

“Are you looking for a job?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to find something, but I’m not going to be police again.”

“Ah. Well… I thought that might be the case.” Castiel smiled a little. “Do you want to go to lunch? I’ll drive.”

Gadreel blinked. “I… suppose so. If it's not too expensive.”

“Sure. I'm buying. Get your shoes, I’ll go put the top down.” Cas went out the front door with a little wave.

Gadreel shut off the coffee maker and let Wookie out of his room. He had to allow him to sniff around the door and huff a little as he put on proper shoes and found his sunglasses. He had a panama hat that he decided to bring in case he felt like he was being sunburned.

Novak was in a cream convertible Cadillac with a red leather interior. It was a weirdly flamboyant car for a man to buy himself—not a sportscar, and not an economy car. He had it started and smiled at him from behind the wheel. “Get in.”

Gadreel sat and put on his seat belt. He wondered if he’d have to get a car for himself to get a better job.

“Have you been to Zeke’s yet?”

“No, where is it?”

“Santa Cruz. I’ve heard it’s good.” He pulled out onto the road and lazily drove along.

“Listen, Cas… I, um… I wanted to ask you—did you ever get in touch with Benny?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

He wanted to ask him about a million questions, but had to bite his tongue. He didn’t think that Cas would be angry with him—he worried that he might out Benny inadvertently, and ruin his friendship with the ex-Jag officer.

The road into the bigger town was full of stoplights and awkward silences.

“Where are you going to school?”

“Oh, Berkeley Law. It’s pretty simple, except that all the things I memorized in my military law career aren’t useful anymore.”

Gadreel smiled. “Welcome to the civilian world. God forbid you try to use an acronym.”

“Yep. F.U.B.A.R.,” Cas laughed, “and F.T.A.”

He looked at the restaurant as they pulled into the lot a few minutes later. The wood shingles, wood siding, and red painted sign made Ezekiel's look like an outdated little hole in the wall. Gadreel thought perhaps it needed more windows, or maybe just a parking lot free of potholes. The lot was crammed with cars, but Novak found them a space, which they backed into carefully.

“Seems popular,” Gadreel stated.

“Yeah, and… well I didn’t want to throw this on you at your house, but the owner’s family is looking to sell.” He sauntered towards the front.

“Is it going to shut down?”

“Not if they find the right investor. Or _investors_.”

He had to puzzle why Cas had brought it up. The inside of the place was dated, but clean. He had to marvel that someone had bothered to create a carpet that perfectly blended the look of camouflage with flowers. “What kind of food is even here?”

“Oh. They have a decent burger. But the gumbo is the best in town.”

“…is anyone else even serving gumbo?”

“Oh, sure, probably.” He sat down in a booth in the corner, skipping the server and just grabbing a couple of vinyl-clad menus. He slid one over to Gadreel. “I think I’m having the gumbo myself.”

“Well, me too. Maybe a beer.”

“Sounds good.” Novak agreed and looked around to the crowded room.

They made their order easily enough to a rushed waitress who seemed grateful for their preparation, and their beer arrived in sweating cold glasses.

Gadreel confessed. “I don’t really have a plan.  Besides getting here, and… well, frankly, doing it in one piece.”

“And not having to hide.”

He felt his spine stiffen of its own accord. “Um. I guess not. But it’s not like I have… nosy neighbors or anything,” He blushed, and looked around to make sure that no one was listening, “I’m pretty fine with being alone, really.”

"So you _are_ on your own," Cas said, as if Gadreel would have had a string of lovers and admirers waiting in the wings.

Gadreel looked at the tabletop, trying to deflect his embarrassment. Distantly, he wondered if this was supposed to be a _date_ , and felt a little flutter of panic. "Besides the dog, yes."  

“But you _do_ need to make money.”

“I have four months to find a job before I have to start bagging groceries.” He shrugged. “You seem to have something in mind, though. Or am I wrong?”

Cas tilted his head and shrugged, poker face intact. “Maybe.”

Gadreel stared at him and took a long drink of his beer.

“Look. Please keep this under your hat, but I think I might buy this place. Or part of it. But I’m too busy to be here enough to actually run things.”

“Are you kidding?” Gadreel laughed. “Have you ever owned a restaurant?”

“No, of course not. But I think you’d make an excellent floor manager.”

He blinked. “…I have utterly no experience, Cas. You’d be insane to invest in something run by me.”

“Well, I’d like you to be an investor, too. I don’t have enough funds to be sole owner, anyway. Besides, the place practically runs itself.”

The waitress came back while Gadreel was dumbfounded, and slid their bowls of gumbo across the tabletop.

He was flummoxed and bamboozled and quite possibly hallucinating this entire day. Gadreel picked up his spoon. “I’ll have to think about it.” He slipped his spoon under a pink curl of shrimp meat and lifted it to taste. It was hot, and then the spice sank in, but the meat parted tenderly between his teeth in a perfectly crisp break. The taste was incredible and he sat there, stunned.

“All right, I’m sorry, I have to send mine back.” Cas set his spoon down in his bowl and raised his hand.

“No, wait. Mine’s good. Have mine.” Milton tried to intervene, and even slid his bowl across to Cas.

Cas shook his head, and the waitress was already at their table, her expression guarded.

“How can I help?”

“Listen. The fish is overcooked and a week old, this is hardly enough spice to mask the odor of your chef, and the shrimp are rubbery and cold.”

Both Gadreel and their server were stunned into silence. She picked up the bowl. “Would you like him to remake it, or would you like to change your order, sir?”

“Remake it. We’ll wait.”

Gadreel knew that his face was as red as he could get. He took a sip of his beer and pulled his bowl back over to his side with trepidation. It was unlikely, but he took great big bites of the gumbo in case Cas somehow got them kicked out of the restaurant that they were supposed to be investing in.

He froze with his mouth full as he heard a shout from the kitchen.

“ ** _He’s outta his goddamn mind!_ ** ”

The waitress sounded like she was trying to calm him down in a low, quiet voice.

Gadreel gulped around hot lumps of shrimp and okra, and stood up, spine straight. It couldn’t be. He looked down at Cas, aghast, and saw a mischievous smile twist his mouth.

“You son of a bitch,” Gadreel muttered at him.

“Go on, then.” He smiled like a cat and took a sip of his beer.

Gadreel marched through the restaurant and right to the swinging door to the kitchen. He could hear sizzling and smell the divine scent of gumbo file, oregano and thyme, and once he passed through the swinging door, the sound of the griddles seemed to grab ahold of time and slow the seconds down to years.

Benny was fussing over prying some shrimp from their tiny, delicate shells, tongue pinched between his teeth. The other cooks were staring at Gadreel as though he’d come into the kitchen wearing a spacesuit.

“Benny.” One of the cooks pointed at Gadreel with a knife.

Gadreel gulped and took a couple of steps towards Lafitte, but then stopped himself, hands at his side, fingers trembling.

Benny looked over at him and dropped his knife, and the shrimp soon after. “Oh, holy shit. Galahad?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Benny. It’s me.”

Benny took a step and pulled him into the tightest hug he’d ever had in his life.

Gadreel shut his eyes, willed himself to forget about the other people in the kitchen with him, and embraced him, bowing his head to his shoulder. He tried to stop himself from trembling.

“You’re okay,” Benny mumbled near his ear, smoothing his hands down his back in a way that made Gadreel’s skin tingle. “You’re okay.”

He nodded and pulled back to wipe his face and breathe before he completely lost his cool and wept. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“I… how did you find me?”

“It was Cas. I looked in the papers but—”

“Fry cooks don’t make the headlines, cheré.” Benny wiped his eyes and grinned.

Gadreel nodded, overwhelmed. “Please… please, come home with me.”

He nodded and patted his shoulder. Benny took off his apron. “Fellas, I’m sorry. I’ll be back on tomorrow for the lunch rush.”

The other cooks looked at each other, and nodded. One picked up a paper hat and perched it on his head, seeming hopeful that it would make him a better chef.

He walked out of the kitchen with Benny right behind him, knowing that if he chose to put his hand back and reach for his, that he would be there. Cas had finished his beer and was sitting with his legs up on the bench in his booth, still grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“Cas, you damn fool. You still bumming around this town?” Benny laughed.

“Until I find a partner.” Cas shrugged.

Gadreel stood at the end of the table. “Done.”

Benny laughed and looked back at him. “You’re serious?”

Gadreel blinked. “The gumbo was delicious, and at least _you_ know what you’re doing.”

Novak got up. “You’re going to find your own way home, I imagine.” He gave Benny a pat on the arm and headed out to the parking lot. Gadreel laughed and got out his wallet.

Benny turned and put his hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry about it, let’s just go.”

Gadreel left a tip, just for the waitress and the staff they were inconveniencing, and followed Benny as he led him out of the restaurant.

Lafitte’s pickup was in a blind alley, and he looked behind them before he grabbed Gadreel’s hand and pulled him into the cab.

Gadreel was grinning in awe. “You still have it. Your truck.”

“‘Course I do. Most reliable thing in my life.” He crawled over to the driver’s side and waited for Gadreel to climb in behind him and shut the door.

Gadreel crawled over and sat himself on top of Benny and buried his face in the nape of his neck, breathing in his scent, trying to will the fine tremors to stop.

Benny’s hands found Gad’s sides and skated down to his waist, where they rested under his shirt, chaste and strangely soft against his bare skin.  He seemed oddly still, settling under him and closing his eyes. “I can hardly believe it,” Benny murmured against his ear.

He kissed his neck, despite the stubble tickling his lips, and sighed. “Will you stay?”

Benny’s arms wound all the way around him. “Yes, I mean… if you’re going to buy the restaurant, I’m sure as hell okay with working for you.”

“I’m splitting it with Cas, I guess. I bought a house.” Gadreel kissed his still lips. “I’m doing fine here; we’ll figure it out.”

Benny’s fingers found the scar on his arm, where the skin felt thin and the muscle beneath jittered under his touch.

Benny dropped his hand. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really.” Gadreel nuzzled his jaw and then slowly slid off his lap. “Just history.” 

His lover smiled bitterly and looked out the window. “I couldn’t… I’ve never been so mad. Even in ‘nam. But you were hurt and I… I had a part in it.”

“No.” Gadreel put his fingers on his chin, turned his head to look at him. “Benny, that’s not right to think.”

“Are we gonna fight about this now?”

“No, I just. Please don’t treat me like I’ve been broken. I’m fine.”

“Do you still love me?”

Gadreel wasn’t sure he trusted his voice, but he spoke anyway. “Yeah, Benny. Please stay.”

“Okay.”

Gadreel took a deep breath as Benny started the engine. He almost wanted to ask him if he loved him, too, but it felt odd to even question Benny’s feelings about him. He put his hand on Gadreel’s knee, squeezing gently. Lafitte might not be able to say it aloud, but he demonstrated it just from being there with him.

“Aptos.” Gadreel smiled. “You can see the ocean from the living room.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Oh, and I have a dog.” Gadreel reached over and put his hand on his thigh.

Benny laughed and wiped his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up. You may as well have just fallen from the sky, Galahad.”

He quoted _The Man Who Fell to Earth,_ even though he wasn't sure Benny would get it.“ _All things begin and end in eternity.’_ ” He smirked at his partner, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

Benny blinked a few times. “That’s great, cheré. You want to tell me some more directions to where you live now, so I don’t just take you to my place?”

Gadreel leaned into the middle of the pickup and ran his hand up the inside of Benny’s thigh. “Yeah, let me just tell you the turns when they come up.”

“God and sonny Jesus, I’m so glad I kept my fuckin’ handcuffs in the back.”

He squeezed. “Is that a warning, sir?” 

“It’s gonna be the death of both of us if you don’t learn to wait a little.”

He eased off of his leg a bit and slid his palm back down to rest on his knee. “Twelve months, Lafitte. Drive faster; I waited long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading to the end. I'm so happy to be done, and at the same time very proud of it. 
> 
> In the 1970s, a man known as the "Doodler" or "The Black Doodler" would meet his victims at gay and drag queen bars and nightclubs, charming them with his charade as a shy artist. He would first sketch his prey, then he would have sex with them and murder them. In the span of a year, he had killed 14 men. Although the police questioned a suspect, his 3 surviving victims didn't want to testify against him in court, which would in turn publicly "out" them. Therefore, the Black Doodler was never properly identified. The newspapers of San Francisco did not often report on the killings, as they were more concerned with the Zodiac Killer. 
> 
> Most of the clubs and places mentioned in this fic are real, but many have been shuttered for more than 30 years. 
> 
> Comments are like currency to fic writers. <3


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